Capital E, Everything
by fortheloveofdaisies
Summary: Meet Edward and Bella, two best friends who share some stupid jokes, a lot of silly banter, and even more sexual repression. A story about standing on the edge of a leap that could risk, well, everything.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own Twilight.

* * *

**Chapter One**

"And you know what?" I ask no one in particular, raising the whiskey bottle as high as my voice. Which I'm starting to realize is probably way above necessary.

"What," Alice sighs next to me, sipping a Coors Light in the crowded bar. She raises a brow at me, suspicion mixed with amusement with a dash—or maybe a heap—of annoyance.

"I just remembered—his cologne smelled like _pine cones_. Pine cones. I mean, what is he, a Christmas tree?" I ask before gulping down some more Jack Daniel's, wincing as I remember I hate whiskey. I take another swig, though, because I'm apparently a masochist. "God, that's terrible," I mumble, setting the bottle down.

"No, Bella," Rose shakes her head on the left of me, blue eyes still bright in the shitty lighting. "What's _terrible_ is that you're sitting here in this rank bar drinking your sorrows away, when really, you should be _fucking_ them away." She waggles her eyebrows, grinning, and I fight a grimace.

"Yeah!" Alice joins, face bright. "C'mon, it'll feel good to get that…that…shit, what was that guy's na—"

"_Mike_," I interrupt, grabbing the bottle from the counter again to bring it to my lips. Why hasn't the bartender cut me off yet? "And no," I say, wiping my hand across my mouth as Rose and Alice's faces grow exasperated with my refusal.

"Just what do you have against a good one night stand?" Rose asks, and I snort. Typical.

"Excuse me?" she asks. I widen my eyes, hand on my mouth.

Shit. Did I say that out loud? "Uh…I said _mythical_. Mythical, Rose," I recover, nodding, and who knew my drunk thinking was just as quick as my sober thinking? She gives me a skeptical eye-narrow as I continue. "One night stands are a mythical concept designed to make, you know, people feel like they need someone _else_ to get over…their…heartbreak." Yeah. That makes sense, right?

"Heartbreak?" Alice repeats, eyebrows raised.

"Well." I fidget with my sweater. "No. I guess. _I don't know_." And down goes another gallon or two of ol' Jack. "I mean, he was nice," I say, but it sounds like a question. "And he wasn't _too_ bad in the sack." I squint, memories replaying in the drunken haze called my brain. "I guess."

Rose snorts, downing her Corona. "Good riddance," she mutters while Alice nods, trying not to smile.

"_Whatever_, guys, he was nice."

"Who was nice?" a familiar voice asks behind me.

I swivel around on my barstool, my knees fitting right between Edward's legs.

"Edward."

"Bella," he replies, a little confused.

"Oh, thank God," Rose sighs, rising up from her seat. "Maybe you can talk some sense into her," she tells him before facing me. "Bella. Dear. I'm saying this for your own good. Stop the moping shit, go home with a nameless fine-ass bastard, and get the heartbreak or whatever fucked out of you. Later, sweets." And with a maternal kiss on my forehead that couldn't be a starker contrast to her words of advice, she leaves, probably off to maul Emmett.

Edward's sputtered laugh causes my eyes to snap to his, and I realize Alice has left.

"Well. This is it," I tell the bar counter. "I drove all my friends away, just like I drove him away. I'm a driver-away, Edward." I'm rambling, I know I'm rambling, but I get chatty when I drink. I vaguely notice Edward taking Alice's old seat and ordering a Stella for himself.

"Make that two," I blurt out to the bartender, who just looks at me sadly before sighing and leaving to fetch our drinks.

"Did you just get the pity sigh from the bartender?" Edward asks.

"Yeah. I guess I did," I sigh to the table.

"And now you're giving it to yourself," he nudges my shoulder with his. "Alright, what happened, Swan?"

I wince at his frequent nickname for me, turning to face him. "Mike dumped me."

He blinks once before clearing his throat. "Well, that's shitty. Why didn't you tell me before?"

I shrug, waving a hand. "I dunno. Chicks before dicks, or something," I mumble while he fights a smile. "Alice and Rose were here first anyway, and besides, you were busy with work."

"Well, still. That's shitty."

"Tell me about it."

"Wait." Edward scratches the skin above his eyebrow. "Wasn't Mike the one with the pine cones?"

* * *

**A/N: So, this is just gonna be some simple, fluffy, silly stuff. Not loads of angst, but a bump or two in the road, sure. Mainly it'll be Bella and Edward referencing to pop culture and wanting to bang but not. Not yet, anyway. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

I don't own Twilight.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

I groan, "You noticed it too?"

"Are you kidding?" Edward scoffs. "He was like a walking ad for Christmas."

I roll my eyes, sighing. "Still. He was nice. Like, really nice." Okay, not that nice. But he was…good. Ish. "He was just…I don't know. Nice."

Edward places a hand on my elbow, causing me to look in his slightly suspicious eyes. "Bella, you've just uttered the word _nice_ three times in less than a minute. I'm concerned." He feigns checking for a fever, the back of his hand at my forehead.

I swat his hand away, scowling and ignoring his stupid grin. "Of course you'd joke, you joke-maker. Edward Cullen, everyone, master of making jokes!" I announce loudly, earning a few irritated glances from bar patrons within a three-foot radius.

"Holy shit, how much have you had to drink?" Edward mumbles with a laugh in my ear as our drinks come. He takes a swig, eyes on me, and then sets his Stella on the counter before clearing his throat. "Why are you so upset, anyway?"

I scoff, cocking my head. "Right, because being broken up with is oh-so-dandy. Peachy-keen. Fucking spiffy," and I'm about to continue, when he puts his hand on my knee, halting me.

"Okay, Andy Griffith, back to the point. It's over here, somewhere," he teases as I scowl at his constant joking. That's the way things are between Edward and me, though. We joke and tease and mock and probably understand each other better than anyone else. I mean typically, that's what a best friend is for, and although I have Rose and Alice, Edward and I have always clicked in a different way.

I shake my head, taking a gulp of beer, and point to his chest. "What's _your_ point?"

He shrugs, sipping his drink. "In the last five minutes we've spent talking about Mike, all I've heard of the guy is that he was really fucking_ nice_ and smelled of pine cones," he raises his eyebrows. "Is that such a huge loss? I can buy you a few car air fresheners," he offers, straight-faced.

"And what about the nice part?"

"I'm nice," and the way he smiles crookedly, like his eyes dare me to object, says anything but.

"Right," I scoff.

"But really," he says, bumping a knee with mine. "Were you serious about this pine cone g—uh, Mike? Were you serious about Mike?" he corrects himself, making me smile a little.

I sigh, rubbing at my eyes before remembering I applied mascara earlier. Fuck. "I…don't know," I sigh, hands at my sides. "No. I don't think so. I'm just…" I gulp, shrugging. "What if Pine Cone Mike was my last chance, Edward?" He furrows his brow, so I continue, my alcohol-hazed mind running wild with possibilities. "I mean what if I never meet anyone again and I end up some sad, bitter spinster with like a million hamsters? I'll be the old woman teenage boys make fun of and make up horror stories about. Like that I have warts or ate my husband, or am a witch, or—"

"Jesus," Edward laughs, immediately halting his chuckles with a cough when I send him a glare. "Bella. Come on. First of all, hamsters? Aren't cats more appropriate?"

"I'm allergic," I remind him.

"Right. Okay, well cats or no cats, you aren't gonna end up some fucking sad spinster who ate her husband or whatever," he waves his hand, gulping the remains of his beer before asking the bartender for another.

"And how do you know?" I pester him with a raised eyebrow. "Took a peek out of that crystal ball, did ya? Ooh, a comedian _and_ a fortune-teller; this one's a twofer, ladies!" I yell, unable to realize just how ridiculous I look. And sound. And probably smell.

"Who are you even talking to?" he utters with a concerned shake of his head.

I shake my own, getting back to the point. "You can't just say I won't end up with a million hamsters and an eaten husband, Edward, you just can't."

"Wow, okay, sorry I offended you so," he replies quizzically. "Don't worry, Bella. Your future is filled with a thousand tiny hamsters and a corpse for a husband," he pats my hand. "Better?"

"Shut up." I poke his side, making him jolt. "You know what I mean. How do I know I'll meet someone else? What if I end up alone?"

Edward shrugs as the bartender brings him another beer, and takes a drink. "I guess you don't know, not for sure. Anyway, what's wrong with being alone? There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, you know."

"Wow. Philosopher Ed is out tonight, huh?" I ask dryly, to which he fakes putting on a pair of invisible glasses. I call him a dork and he says he knows and I tap my shoe lightly against his and he sighs, shaking his head a little.

"You aren't going to end up alone, Bella. Trust me."

"The same way I trusted you when you told me I'd love Indian food?" My stomach lurches at the memory.

He fights a smile at the memory, raising his hands. "Okay, that was the establishment's fault, not mine. How was I supposed to know your sensitive stomach would get food poisoning?"

"Your crystal ball wasn't working then?" I raise a brow.

He grins, "Nope. But it is now. And it says to trust me. Just let things happen, and they will."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and sigh instead, heavy and tired. "Maybe I should just take Rose's advice and let some nameless dude fuck the Mike outta my system," I muse.

Edward coughs next to me, spilling his beer on his shirt, cursing. "Um," he gulps, chuckling a little and dabbing at the stain. "Really? So that's what she was talking about earlier."

"Yeah," I nod.

"Are you?" he asks, his face twisted with something I can't recognize. There's teasing there, of course—there's always teasing there—and amusement and a little bit of being buzzed, but there's a weird tension around his eyes, like he's anticipating my answer.

"I don't know. That's not really my shtick, you know?" I take a gulp of my beer.

Edward purses his lips, the tension not quite as apparent as before, and shrugs. "I don't know, Bella. I mean," he starts, his eyes smiling, "I don't see nothing wrong…with a little bump and grind." He waggles his eyebrows.

"Oh, my God," I say, horrified, but I need to bite my lip to hide my smile.

"What?" he asks, face blank. "Sometimes your mind tells you no, but you know, your body…it just starts telling you yes," and he doesn't get through the whole lyric without a grin pulling at his lips.

"Remind me why I tolerate you again," I mutter through a small smile, shaking my head.

"Easy," he shrugs, pulling out his wallet to lay a few bills down on the counter. "I pay for your drinks and live close enough so you don't have to take the subway all the way to your place." He grabs my coat from the counter and stands. "Plus I can quote R Kelly like a smooth motherfucker," he smiles, head beckoning for the door. "Let's go."

* * *

**A/N: Uhh I vote for Bella to let a **_**non**_**-nameless dude fuck the Mike outta her system!**

**Edward, I mean. That's what I was getting at. Aha. Also I feel like I should mention that I don't really have a strict uploading schedule? Like once a week, maybe later, maybe sooner? Sound good? Good. Oh, and chapters will be shortish, like 1-3k words being the most. Anyway, you guys are better than the smell of Christmas. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

******I don't own Twilight.  
**

* * *

******Chapter Three**

"Okay that's it," Edward sighs, pulling his key from his pockets before jamming the right one in the lock of his apartment door. "I'm cutting you off."

I frown, licking my lips to make sure they're there. They feel numb, suddenly. Like these weird rubber extensions of my mouth. I think I drank too much. "That's not your call," I tell him a little too loudly, noticing how my voice echoes through the empty hallway.

"Bella, you were serenading the cab driver to Party in the USA," he starts, swinging his door open before facing me. "You need to be cut off more than Emmett's dick."

"Lovely mental image," I mutter, closing my eyes for a beat. "And hey. In my defense, when the taxi man turned on the radio, the Jay-Z song literally was on," I counter, fighting the urge to stick my tongue out as I follow him through the doorway.

"No," he laughs with a shake of his head, flicking on the lights as I close the door behind me. "It actually wasn't."

"Whatever," I mutter, heading to his kitchen. "Beer?"

"One," he calls out. "For me. Jasper's staying at Alice's tonight and you're cut off, remember?"

"Yeah, right," I mumble to myself, reaching his fridge. Grabbing two Sapporos and a bottle opener, I walk to the living room where Edward's on the couch with the TV remote in hand as he flips through the channels. I give him the bottle and he thanks me before narrowing his eyes at the other one I'm holding.

"What? It's just _one more beer_," I shrug, taking a seat next to him on the couch as he peels the top off his Sapporo.

"That's how it starts, Bella. Just one more beer, just one more cigarette. Before you know it, you'll be a homeless hag nursing warm champagne in an alley." He sighs, shaking his head before taking a swig.

"You're awfully dramatic," I snort. I don't even smoke.

He raises his eyebrows. "Says the girl who mentioned a future filled with a million hamsters and dead husbands based on," he holds up his index finger, "one break-up."

"Dead _husband_," I correct, noticing my words sounding slightly slurred. "Just one. I'm not some murderous whore."

"Right," he nods, all serious. "Just murderous."

"Yep," I nod back. "Which reminds me. Beer. Or else," I shake the bottle in my hand, my eyes darting to the bottle opener in Edward's. "C'mon, do it for Pine Cone Mike."

He tilts his head. "How is this for him again?"

I shrug, scratching my neck. "It'll…help me get over him and his Christmas-scented…ness. You don't want me talking your ear off about his pine cones, do you?"

His chuckle is short as he shakes his head. "First off, I would be very grateful if you refrained from saying anything about Mike's..._pine cones_," he waggles his eyebrows, earning an eye-roll from me, "and secondly, if you're the one who needs help getting over some dude who reeks of Christmas, I think you need something stronger than beer."

I raise a brow, my voice dropping lower. "What, like drugs?"

Edward's voice is a whisper, eyes feigning excitement. "No, like therapy."

My hand collides with his chest. "Asshole."

"Wow, that actually kinda hurt," he murmurs, rubbing where I hit him. "Have you been lifting up your arm to change the TV channels recently?"

I narrow my eyes at him, ignoring how the action makes my head spin and yeah, I probably drank too much. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be comforting me after a recent break-up, you sure are a shitty friend."

He grins, "It's called tough love."

"Which is usually the excuse abusive bastards give to their victims," I snort.

"Are you calling me abusive?" he asks, lips twitching in a smirk. "Need I remind you that you kicked me twice last week when I refused to give you a bite of my burrito?"

I point at him, all riled up. "The fact that you withheld delicious Mexican food from your best friend is proof of your abusive tendencies!"

He rolls his eyes. "What about yesterday?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I do.

"You nearly bit my finger off," he replies dryly.

"You should know better than to reach for a piece of my brownie, Edward. Come on, that's like Bella 101."

"See, I never signed up for that class, on account of the professor's absolutely _insane_."

"Will you just fucking open the bottle already?" I demand, thrusting my beer in his face. "I've got sorrows that need to be numbed."

He studies me after a moment before reaching over to open it with a sigh. "Fine, but that's the last one."

I fake crossing my heart and nod, grinning when he gives me my freshly-opened beer before tipping my head back to gulp some down. I dart my eyes to the TV in the background, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. "What the hell are we watching?"

He turns his head and squints at the infomercial on the screen before grabbing the remote. "Someone entirely too chipper about their home sound system."

I sigh, taking another gulp of beer as he switches the channel. "You know who had a fantastic sound system?" I burp, ignoring the wrinkle of his nose. "Mike."

"Did he play Christmas carols on it all the livelong day?" he snorts softly.

"No," I scowl, then drop my voice to a murmur. "He played Air Supply."

Edward turns to me with an incredulous expression before bursting out in laughter. "What?" he wheezes. "Are you serious?"

Scoffing, I hit his arm. "What the fuck is wrong with a little eighties romance music?"

"_Air Supply?_" he repeats, like it's a curse. "Out of all eighties romance bands to listen to, he chose Air Supply?" He shakes his head, "Good fucking riddance, Bella."

"You're such a pretentious douche," I roll my eyes.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"What?"

"Douche. You can't call someone a _douche_. That's like calling someone a...run. Or a bake. You can't call someone a verb."

I blink at his completely serious face. "I just called you _pretentious douche_ and all you can talk about is how the manner in which I insulted you was grammatically incorrect?" I point at him. "Exhibit A, ladies and gentlemen."

Edward turns to look to the left and right before facing me again, his voice dropping to a mumble. "You do know there's no one else here, right?" He ducks as I make a move to hit him again, grinning. "You're not seeing things, are you, Bella? Maybe I shouldn't have given you that last beer..."

I hold my Sapporo close to my chest, fighting the urge to bare my teeth. "Mine."

His eyebrows bounce. "That's healthy."

"Whatever," I narrow my eyes at him, managing to elbow his ribs successfully. "I still think Air Supply is fantastic."

"You would," he snickers.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

The corner of his mouth pulls up slightly as he says, "Your taste in music is as good as your taste in men."

"Yeah, and friends too, apparently," I mutter before rising up from the couch, making a wobbly-stepped move to leave. The second my foot leaves the ground, though, Edward's hand clutches at the sleeve of my jacket and pulls me back, causing me to land firmly back on the couch. My stomach drops as I gasp and I can't tell whether my reactions are out of beer-induced nausea or his brazen insistence for keeping me next to him.

"Okay, okay," he snickers as I sit up, slightly rumpled, his smile barely contained. "No more teasing."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I mutter, tipping back my beer to gulp some more down. He laughs as I suddenly feel a trickle of wetness down my throat and I put the beer down, frowning at the mess I've made.

"God, you're graceful," he chuckles, leaning towards me. Bringing a hand up to my throat, he lightly wipes away a few spills of beer that escaped my mouth in my alcohol-fueled hurry and I almost freeze, wondering why he felt the need to wipe the spill when I was perfectly capable of doing so myself. I'd mock him about it too, but his touch is creating a buzzing in my bones that renders me sort of limp and blinky. Or it could be the beer.

"Oh," I gulp as he lingers there for a moment, so close to my neck that I can feel his breath on my skin. "Sorry."

He laughs quietly, maintaining his head's position at my throat. "Why are you apologizing to me?"

"Because..." I wrack my brain, telling myself that his sudden nearness should not be making my thoughts this jumbled. _It's just Edward_. "You cleaned up my mess."

He smirks, "As usual."

I open my mouth to reply, but he starts tracing small circles on my collar bone, humming distractedly, out of nowhere. He doesn't provide a reason for the spur of the moment contact and I don't feel the need to ask for one and this is all very touchy-feely. Literally. I'm mildly holding my breath, trying not to squirm under his touch, my mind abruptly numb, and I think he's drunk. I think I'm drunk. I think we're drunk.

"Hey, what happened here?" he asks out of nowhere, words whispered and warm.

He doesn't stop touching me, and it makes me concentrate on not sounding like a weenie when I speak. "What?"

His finger taps on my collarbone and he purses his lips. "You have a scar here that I've never noticed before. What happened?"

"Oh." I tuck my chin into my chest, trying to get a look at what he's asking about, and sigh. "It was...I had a thing. Last week." He gazes blankly at me and I clear my throat, begrudgingly continuing. "With uh, my curling iron. My hand slipped and I burned myself, so. Hurt like a bitch, but I put toothpaste on it right away and it helped a lot because apparently that works for most household burns? There's an element in the gel that's supposed to be soothing or something." I'm rambling again, sloppy and quick, and I'm not sure why. I tell myself it's the beer and not the fact that Edward's hair smells just a teeny tiny bit like what I imagine heaven to be.

He's laughing a little, lips pressed together to contain his drunkenly amused smile. "I actually didn't know that."

"Fun fact of the day."

He nods slightly, and although his fingers have stopped tracing my skin, our faces are still unusually close. His eyes are an unfairly vivid shade of green, even in the dim light of his living room, and I sorta start to feel like sighing.

"Hey, Bella?" he asks suddenly, his words running together slightly.

I gulp, because my throat is weirdly dry. "Yeah?"

His inhales, eyes blinking slowly. "Pine Cone Mike is really fucking stupid for breaking up with you."

My scoff is weak and so is my smile and I'm pretty sure my face is red and I don't know why I'm suddenly thinking of the way I look. I think it has to do with thinking of the way Edward looks, especially this close. He is so near with his hair and eyes and stupid drunken grin, it almost makes me dizzy. Or maybe that's the alcohol.

"You have to say that," I mutter, swallowing. "You'd be a shitty friend if you didn't."

He raises a brow. "I thought I was already a shitty friend for withholding beer and Mexican food."

"Well you eventually gave in with the beer, so it doesn't count. And you can make up for the burrito."

He nods. "That I can. Still, though," he grins, and I wonder if his lips have always done that strangely attractive crooked thing or if it's the whiskey playing with my vision. "Saying that Mike is fucking stupid for breaking up with you probably does earn me good friend points, but it doesn't mean I'm lying."

"Yeah?" I ask, noticing his eyes dart to my mouth.

"Yeah," he nods slightly, leaning in closer, and I can't ignore it.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, because even through my alcohol-ridden mind, I notice a shift in the energy between us. Everything is warm and heavy and concentrated in this tight space we share, and it makes me more curious than uncomfortable.

"What do you mean?" He licks his lips, and I involuntarily do the same.

"You're just, you're really...close." I gesture to the almost nonexistent gap between us, unable to even make a joke about personal space.

He gestures with his chin towards my lips as an answer. "You have something at the corner of your mouth."

_Stupid_. "Oh." I rub at my mouth, fingers weak. "Did I get it?"

His smirk is lazy. "Uh, nope."

I huff, wiping my lips. "Now?"

He shakes his head, leaning closer. "I think you just made it worse. Here, I can..." And then his finger is running gently across my bottom lip, pressing lightly, warm and firm.

I catch my sigh with a gulp. "Got it?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, eyes trained on his finger that's still touching my lip.

"Good," I say, eyes half-closed. And maybe it's the beer making my brain hazy or maybe it's his warm, heavy touch against my mouth or maybe it's the fact that I've just been broken up with and am feeling particularly vulnerable and lonely, but I don't shove him away. I don't tease him about personal hygiene or where he can stick his finger. And when his eyes dart to my heaving chest in such a non-friend, why-are-you-looking-at-me-like-that way, I feel my heat hammer in my blood and my breathing picks up because his face is so close to mine, it's like I'm breathing in his exhales.

He smells like aftershave and beer and the city sun this close, eyes trained on my mouth, lips slightly parted and I find myself leaning just a little bit closer, because _why not_.

I'm not thinking and I doubt he is either as our heads incline closer, his eyes darting to my lips, eyes cautious but eager, and I'm leaning so close I can almost taste his breath. All I can do is see and feel, my thoughts static as he breathes over my face before closing his eyes and I do the same, as if we're about to kis—

"Yo fucker, plans were screwed so I'm gonna crash here inst...Oh."

We're pushing away from each other by the time Jasper steps into the living room, voice trailing off when he spots both of us scrambling frantically on the couch. I finally manage a believable sitting position and it's silent for a beat, my heart pumping in my ears as I will my pulse to slow down, the bottle in my hands shaking slightly, and I force myself not to glance in Edward's direction. I can see him from my peripheral vision, his body perched at the opposite end of the couch as if I'm a leper, arms a little rigid, chest a lot heaving.

What just even I don't happened what.

Jasper clears his throat after a second, and I glance up to see him eyeing the two of us.

"Evening, Bella."

"Jasper," I squeak, then clear my throat. Violently. "Hello, hey. Hi." _Shut up_.

He blinks at me for a moment before telling Edward that he'll be staying here tonight instead of at Alice's since she's swamped with work.

"Supposedly I'm too much of a distraction," he scoffs.

"You two do suck face every time you're in a five-mile radius within each other," Edward says. I notice his voice is a little shaky, and he clears his throat.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jasper grins. After saying a quick "don't drink all the beer" and another furrowed brow at the two of us, he ducks out, heading to his room, and it's just Edward and me on the couch like before, except not at all.

For a few moments, nothing is said. He hooks his ankles together on the floor and I cross my legs and swallow, fighting the urge to hum because that is something one does in an awkward situation and this is not an awkward situation. Not in the least.

Eventually, we go back to watching TV and I get us more beers, ignoring Jasper's warning. I spill a little on my jeans and get pissed and Edward jokes about me getting myself wet and I roll my eyes and his foot nudges my leg and I nudge back and we don't mention the moment we were leaning towards each other as if a magnet was pulling us closer, unforgiving and urgent and instinctive. Not once.******  
**

* * *

**A/N: Um yeah.**

**SO there are a shitton more of you guys now thanks to the Incredible Meg (heh see what I did there), aka iambeagle. She helped me decide where to go in this chapter and is a damn skilled moonwalker, so she's Sewper Kewl. Like all you lovely folk. Thanks for reading!**

**Also Edward's crazy. Air Supply is the shit. See you next week :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own Twilight.**

**Also a lot of this is nonsensical morning-after talk. Just really, really silly stuff with almost no point. Because it's not like these characters have enough ramble time. And I most certainly didn't have a whole week to figure out plot direction or anything. Nope.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"Jesus fuckitty shit fuck," I groan as I roll over onto my back, wanting nothing more in this moment than to be greeted by the sweet kiss of death.

Everything is pounding. My shut eyelids weigh a ton, my mouth tastes like a toxic waste site, every bone in my body is aching, and I'm pretty sure my bladder is about to explode, right along with my head.

"Eardrums," a voice replies, rough and thick and seemingly coming from underneath a mountain of blankets. It takes me a headache-filled moment to realize it's Edward's.

"Ungh," is my graceful response, throat sore and eyes shut, which is how they'll stay for the next ten years. I feel something shift next to me, making my abdomen ripple and bladder scream for attention. "Can you not," I plead hoarsely, the desperate need to pee warring with the vicious fight against regaining full consciousness.

"What?" his muffled voice asks after a second. He grunts and shifts again, making me wince. "Move?"

My closed eyes squeeze shut even harder. "Yeah, stop. Just. No."

He moves again, though, making me inhale sharply. "Why," he half-groans, voice strained.

"Because," I gulp painfully. "My bladder is threatening to explode all over this..." I peek an eye open, squinting, and screw it shut again, "bed." _Wait, bed?_ "So unless you want Bella piss sheets, stop the fucking motion of the ocean."

Edward's laugh is throaty and close to my ear. "Because it's not like I have a bathroom," he murmurs sleepily.

"Really not in the mood for conversation right now," I sigh, willing sleep or death to come, but he continues.

"It's got this thing called a toilet," he clears his thick throat. "Technology these days. I mean, it flushes and everything."

"You are way too chatty for someone who just woke up with a hammering hangover," I mutter, finally blinking my eyes open once, twice, three times. I still can't get used to the blinding sunlight in his bedroom that I have no recollection of entering last night, and I squint at him lying next to me, taking in his sleepy form that's covered in heavy blankets. His lips are chapped, he's blinking lazily, deep bags sit under his eyes, and his hair's a disaster. He looks pretty awful, but also sort of adorable.

I frown, staring down at my blanket-clad body. "How did I get in here?"

He rubs at his eyes. "I carried you in."

"Carried me," I repeat, blinking. "Like a child?"

"Or a sloth."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, instead closing them. "Why."

"Something about how my couch feels like a lumpy boulder that even a hobo wouldn't sleep on," he explains.

My brow furrows. "I don't remember that."

His scoff is scratchy. "I'm betting there a lot of things about last night that you don't remember," he says, shuffling under the covers, moving the bed, making me gulp. I really fucking need to pee.

"Bella," he says, causing me to glance at him with squinty eyes. "Go to the bathroom."

"It's all the way over there," I whine, fighting the urge to pout and probably failing.

"You look like you're having a seizure."

"Rude," I gape, before he reaches over and closes my mouth. "Fine. Whatever," I grumble, stripping the blanket off my body to swing my legs off the edge of the bed. I rub my eyes until he pokes my back, finally rising and walking unsteadily to the door, through the hall, and in the bathroom.

My mind is somewhat clearer after using the toilet, last night's memories resurfacing in jagged snippets, one sticking out just a little more than the others. Edward's mumbled words from earlier dance shakily in my mind._ I'm betting there are a lot of things about last night that you don't remember_.

I bite my lip in fierce confusion while washing my hands, avoiding my reflection above the sink, head pounding with glimpses of beer bottles and his couch. I remember the bar and drinking in Edward's living room. And Air Supply talk. And leaning. Lots of leaning. And Edward licking his lips a lot. And me staring at his mouth. And then him touching my mouth. And even more leaning. We didn't...

I mean, I would know if we did. I think. Right?

I finish washing my hands with a frustrated sigh, closing my aching eyes against furiously puzzling memories, and decide that maybe I should save over-analyzing drunken almost-kisses for when the mere thought of breathing doesn't make my stomach lurch.

I leave the bathroom with wobbly knees, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail, and groggily approach the open door of Edward's bedroom. He's propped up against his headboard with the sheet around his bare waist, rubbing his eyes when I enter. Darting his sleepy gaze to me, he yawns as I limp over to the edge of the bed like a wounded pigeon.

"Did you stub your toe on the doorjamb again?"

I close my eyes when seated across from him on the bed, sighing and needing bacon in a bad way. "What."

"You were limping."

"I'm hungover," I state as reason, opening my eyes to adjust my vision to the glaring sunlight pooled in his room.

"I can see that," he yawns again, stretching, and I tell myself that he's stretched shirtless in front of me a million times before, so why the hell is this particular shoulder-flex so fucking hard to refrain from staring at. "Me, too."

I blink down at my lap to keep from gawking, licking my dry lips. "So. Taking a vow of sobriety for the next like, five years," I mutter, rubbing my brow bone.

He snorts. "That's what you said the last time we got shitfaced."

"That was different."

He raises a brow, blinking slowly. "How?"

"Because," I start, moving my back against his headboard so we're sitting side-by-side, his legs crossed while I pull my knees up to my chest. "Last time I wasn't broken up with and didn't sing Miley Cyrus to a cab driver or wake up to a construction crew demolishing my brain." I massage my temples, sighing instead of saying my thoughts out loud.

Last time my best friend and I didn't almost kiss in a haze of drunken desperation and last time I wasn't so violently intrigued with the thought of how his tongue would taste on mine and last time I wasn't captivated with the sensations his touch created against my skin.

"Do you need to use the restroom again?"

My head snaps in the direction of Edward's rough voice. "Huh?"

"You look constipated," he chuckles low, reaching over to rub the apparent furrow between my eyes.

"Oh." I nod, my face now relaxed, and clear my painfully-rough throat. I wonder if he'll bring it up. If he even remembers. He doesn't _seem_ like he remembers. I mean, we did drink. A lot. Or, I did. Way more than him, actually. So by my unfailing logic, if _I_ still remember, then he _has_ to remember. Right?

"I was just…thinking," I muse.

"Dangerous," he teases in a whisper.

Rolling my eyes, I quote, "I laugh in the face of danger," before copying Simba's chuckle. "_Ha ha ha_."

He winces. "It's way too fucking early in the day for theater play, Bella. Plus you are nothing close to Simba," he shakes his head.

I frown, ignoring the ache behind my eyelids. "Fuck you! I am loads Simba."

He scratches his jaw. "Nah, you're more of a Nala. I'm way more Simba than you," he nods.

I scoff. "You do know Nala and Simba get their groove on during a montage in the jungle, right?"

His grin is so cheesy, eyes crinkling. "No one I'd rather get my jungle montage groove on with than you, Swan," he pokes my cheek, smiling sleepily when I swat his hand away.

I yawn, stretching my legs above his blankets. "I thought I had terrible taste in eighties bands and boyfriends. Not exactly jungle montage partner material."

He shrugs, eyes darting downwards and then back up to my face again. "You make it up by having a pretty great rack."

"Such a fucking gentleman," I muse with a shake of my head, fighting the rush of warmth that threatens to rise beneath my cheeks. Since when do I blush around Edward?

He cracks a grin. "You're braless. In my bed. All things considered, I think my current behavior is fairly gentlemanly."

I pause for a moment, one part of my brain still trying to process his words while the other is grasping at any sort of memory of me taking my bra off last night. I don't _feel_ particularly braless...

"You yanked it off before face-planting in my bed," he chuckles, interrupting my thoughts.

I look away, gulping. "Oh, good. Flashing and face-planting. A two-fer. I should've charged," I sigh.

He sighs, too, looking glum. "There was a lot more face-planting than flashing. In fact, the flashing was pretty non-existent, since you did that weird under-the-shirt maneuver girls do. I want a refund."

I close my eyes, feeling dizzy, and rest my head against the headboard. "You only get a refund for something you paid for, dumbass. It's not like you were promised boobs."

"Oh, but I was."

My eyes snap open to find him grinning. What.

"You're lying," I accuse, knowing there's a shamefully not-slim chance that he's not.

He rolls his eyes, grin still intact. "Okay, maybe boobs weren't _promised_, but they sure as hell were implied."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

His laugh is thick and lazy as he pokes my shoulder. "You don't remember bragging about your sexual prowess with Pine Cone Mike?"

My head falls forward into my hands, eyes screwing shut. "Fucking Christ."

He pulls on a piece of my hair gently, a smile in his voice that I want to punch as he continues. "Seriously, Bella? I thought for sure you'd remember," he chuckles. "You told me Mike was missing out on your, um, 'rockin bod' and that he'd spend months weeping over the absence of your 'super boobs.' And when I laughed, you said you'd show me to prove your point, or whatever."

If the blankets suffocated me right this instant and I died drowning in a sea of linen, I'd be perfectly happy.

His shoulder nudges mine, and I raise my head from my hands to clear my throat, glancing at his expectant face. "I need coffee," I declare.

"What about my refund?" He sounds genuinely concerned.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head. "I was break-up drunk, Edward. You can't hold anything I said or did last night accountable. You know the rules."

He tilts his head, expression thoughtful. "Anything you did last night, huh," he repeats softly.

And I know he remembers. I see him replaying the memory in his head, because that's what exactly I'm doing, too. He just kinda stares at me a little and I stare back, biting my lip as he blinks, not sure what to say. What am I supposed to say? Should I say anything? What, exactly, is the protocol for dealing with maybe-accidentally almost drunkenly making out with your best friend in his living room the night before? Should I pretend it didn't even happen?

But it did. Or, didn't.

I need coffee.

Edward glances away for a second, ruffling his hair, then darts his eyes to me, opening his mouth to speak when king of interrupters walks in. Again.

"Dude, what the fuck are you still doing here?"

I turn to see Jasper standing in the doorway and am about to throw the nearest object at his intervening face, but gape and widen my eyes immediately instead. One hand covers my mouth while the other points a finger in his direction.

"What is that?" Edward and I ask simultaneously.

"What's what?"

My finger waves in his direction frantically and I stifle a shudder. "That_...thing._ On your face."

Jasper's face is blank, awaiting my further elaboration, but I'm quite speechless.

"I think she's referring to the uneven field of haphazard hormones above your lip," Edward explains.

"Oh." His expression clears as he sports a grin. "You mean the man 'stache," he nods.

"No," I shake my head fiercely, horrified. "I mean the strip of dead rodent below your nose." I turn to Edward. "How did we not notice that abomination last night?"

He clears his throat. "The power of alcohol."

"What, this?" Jasper shrugs, pointing to the flimsy hairy thing. "I've decided to let it grow out. Two days in, baby, and I've already started to show. I think it makes me look sexy. You know, like in a Tom Selleck kinda way," he waggles his eyebrows, and I swear to God I even see him wink.

"You mean it makes you look pedophilic in a 'registered sex offender' way."

"Yeah," I shake my head with a grimace. "It's like you're about to scout the nearest park to ask little kids if they want to pet a puppy you have stashed in your white van."

Edward hums in agreement. "You really shouldn't walk around with Alice in public. That girl can pass as a high school sophomore. Five bucks says someone will report you as a child molester."

"I'm seconds away from doing so myself," I mutter.

"You know what, fuck both of you," Jasper says, furrowing his brow fiercely. He's legitimately pissed. Over sporadically-grown spurts of hair.

"I can't take your anger seriously with that misplaced eyebrow," I shudder.

Edward snickers, moving to give me a high five, and Jasper just shakes his head. "Whatever. Obviously you fuckers have zero taste."

"Says the guy who has the facial hair of an eighties porn star," Edward snorts.

"I'd rather look like an eighties porn star than be late for work," Jasper counters, pointing to his roommate.

Edward cocks his head confusedly, furrowing his brow. "That makes no sense on so many levels. First of all being that I'm off today."

Jasper shrugs. "That's not what your boss said when he called twenty minutes ago with a work emergency."

"_What?_" The bed jerks violently as Edward abruptly rises from it, making me dizzy. "The fuck, Jas, why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asks, rummaging through his drawers for clothes. He pulls on a pair of pants over his boxers, almost tripping twice, and I swallow my laugh.

"I was about to!" Jasper argues, flicking an angry gaze at me. I hiss. "But then y'all had to go and diss the man 'stache."

"How can you name something 'the man 'stache' and expect to remain mock-free?" I ask him with a shake of my head.

He flips me off as an answer, leaving the room just as Edward steps in my line of vision and pulls at my shoulders. "Up," he commands.

I groan-whine-hiss while he hoists me up, standing wobble-kneed in front of him while he grabs a shirt I was previously sitting on and pulls it on in one quick motion.

"Call you later?" he asks, hair sticking up in about seventeen different directions.

I can't help but grin, mussing up his hair even further. "I'm not sure if I'll answer. I have a hot date with the toilet, then am meeting up with this bottle of aspirin I've been eyeing."

"Playing the field. Respect," he nods, face straight, then darts his eyes to something behind me.

I turn around to see King of Interruptions at the door again, thrusting a phone towards Edward.

"Boss-Man doesn't sound happy," he mutters with raised eyebrows.

"Shit," Edward breathes before pinching my side quickly and moving to grab the phone. He leaves, mumbling quick apologies to other line until I can't hear his voice anymore.

"So," I start, pursing my lips and eyeing Jasper's mustache monstrosity. "How often do you have to feed that thing?"

"Go the fuck home, Swan," he mutters before turning around, and I swear I see him pet it as he walks out the door.

* * *

**A/N: I'm not a mustache fan.**

**I quite literally edited this after a solid four hours of sleep last night and consuming questionable Taco Bell so blame any mistakes on food poisoning and sleep deprivation. Yay excuses.**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

I walk into my apartment twenty minutes later to find Alice's ass sticking out from my open refrigerator in the kitchen, the sight and unexpected company bringing an immediate frown upon my face.

"What are you doing here?"

Her head jerks upwards instantly, hitting the top shelf of my refrigerator with a clunk along with a curse, and she turns around to face me, rubbing her forehead while eyeing my hangover chic apparel. "Bella," she almost sighs. "Where the hell have you been?"

"What are you doing here?" I repeat as she thankfully closes my refrigerator door. My rolling stomach tells me I'm not quite ready for the sight or smell of food just yet.

"Where have you been?" she asks again.

"Why are you avoiding my question?"

"Why are you avoiding mine?"

"I asked you first," I argue with a raised brow, refusing to save time and breath by being the bigger person because I'm three years old.

"Mature," she muters, surrendering with a roll of her eyes. "I'm here to check up on your heartbroken, hungover ass, Swan. After the way you were acting last night over PCG—"

"PCG?"

"Pine Cone Guy," she says, like it's the answer to one plus one.

"He has a name, Alice."

"Which I just told you."

"Whatever," I sigh, rubbing my temples.

"Anyway," she halts the massaging of her forehead, "you seemed to be taking the whole thing really hard last night, and I was worried about you."

"Oh, right," I scoff, moving to sit on a counter stool so I can rest my pounding head on the cool table. "That explains all the concerned missed calls and texts I never received from you, plus why you ditched me at the bar. You know, it's all falling into place. Thanks, _friend_."

"Oh, come on, you were with Edward," she scoffs. "I knew I was leaving you in perfectly capable hands, Bella. The boy always takes care of you."

There's a sudden clench in my chest at her words that I try to suppress with a gulp. "I guess," I mumble, knowing she's absolutely right.

"Besides," she continues, voice bright in a way that makes me want to plug my ears. "I wanna know if you got taken care of in..._other ways_."

I look up and instantly wish I hadn't, because she's waggling her eyebrows and cocking her neck spastically and making obscene gestures with a cucumber that she grabbed from my poorly-stocked fruit bowl and the whole scene gives me a bigger headache. "Alice. Stop. No."

"Come _onnnn_," she urges, thankfully ceasing her mating ritual dance with the vegetable that I now want to burn. "Tell me."

"There's nothing _to_ tell," I reply.

"Really."

"Really," I nod, sluggishly moving off the stool to start some coffee. "I was too shitfaced to take the subway home so I ended up crashing at Edward's."

_"What?_" I wince at the volume of the megaphone she calls a voice. "Are you kidding me?"

I shake my head slowly, dumping a few spoonfuls of my powdered life source into the filter. "Nope."

She groans, "You're hopeless. Doomed to a life of singlehood."

"Yeah, my relationship status is definitely something I want to talk about after just having been broken up with. Thanks, Alice," I grumble, flipping the switch on. The sound of dripping caffeine makes my veins itch for a fix, and I resist the urge to remove the pot entirely and place my mouth under the drip just barely.

Yes, I have a problem. No, I can't find a fuck to give.

"I'm just looking out for you," she insists. "Like, seriously? Spending an evening at Casa Cullen's to take shots and watch Extreme Makeover: Home Edition instead of having crazy hot rebound sex?" She sighs woefully, "New low, Bella."

I immediately bristle at her implications, mouth falling open in defense. "Ty Pennington is a genius, Alice. He saves lives," I hiss.

She blinks. "He remodels houses."

"Homes are living creatures, too! He sees their soul!" and maybe I'm still a little drunk, because, "And I could've had crazy hot rebound sex with Edward, for all you know. So. Yeah." _Take that_.

"You and Edward..." she starts, and I think she's actually taking me seriously when she pauses for a moment, biting her lip. And then she busts out laughing. Full-out chortles burst forth from her mouth and she slaps her knee, throwing her head back and clutching her sides. It's like watching an exorcism.

"Alice."

Her response is to laugh some more, endless chuckles spilling forth as she clutches at her stomach.

"Will you stop cackling like a hyena on crack and tell me what the fuck is so funny?"

She shakes her head as her chuckles die down, clearing her throat wetly. "You...and Edward." She laughs again, "Oh, God. That's good."

"It's not funny," I scowl, and it strikes me how very unfunny I find it. "We could've totally fucked."

"Well, but you didn't fuck," she sighs, coming down from her hysterical high.

"No," I say slowly before blurting out, "But we kissed." Okay what?

Her eyes widen, voice a squeak. "You kissed?"

I clear my throat, tilting my head. "Okay, we didn't kiss." Her eyes roll, and I continue quickly, "But I'm pretty sure we almost did."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait," she holds a hand up, closing her eyes for a beat. "You're _pretty_ sure you _almost_ kissed? Talk about certainty."

I narrow my eyes at her. "There was...a moment."

"A...moment," she repeats, eyebrows raised.

"He...was staring at me. A lot. Particularly my mouth. He even touched it! And," I pause for effect, "he _leaned_."

"Leaned."

"Leaned," I nod.

"Like a cholo?"

"Alice!"

"What, Bella, that's all you're giving me? Edward_ leaned_?" she scoffs. "How do you know you're even remembering this correctly? You were drunk as fuck. You were probably just imagining things."

"I wasn't imagining things," I mutter, because my imagination, while impressive, couldn't have come up with that kind of electricity when he touched me last night, the kind of heat that made me feel simultaneously light and heavy and altogether breathless, and the way he looked at me, like I was something he was dying to savor—I couldn't have made that up. I _know_ he felt it, too. I saw it last night. I saw it this morning.

"Well, whatever," Alice interrupts my daze, shaking her head. "Bottom line is, y'all didn't kiss. Thank God," she sighs.

My brow furrows slightly. "Wh-What is that? What do you mean, thank God?"

"Oh, come on, Bella. You and Edward? Please. No, just—no."

"What is so 'just no' about me and Edward?" I ask with narrowed eyes. "What, you think I'm not good enough for him to fuck, is that it? That's it, isn't it? That's totally it!"

"Oh my _God_," she groans, shaking her head. "No, that's not it. Jesus, get some caffeine into your system to balance out the crazy." She grabs a mug from my dish rack and pours some of the black energy in it, shoving it in my hands afterwards.

Tentatively, I drink, suspicious eyes still on her. "For your information, I've been fucked by way hotter dudes than Edward before. There was a fireman who lived upstairs two years ago and his his hose was the size of—"

"Bella." Her eyes are closed. "That's not what I mean. You and Edward are just...I don't see it. You guys have no chemistry. You're too different."

"What are you talking about? We have tons in common."

"The fact that you both live on Earth doesn't count."

I scoff-sigh-cough. "We are both human beings living in Chicago whose mutual hobbies include breathing through our lungs and consuming deep-fried foods. We both have eyes and brown hair, _plus_ we both hate Stalin." I take another gulp of coffee. "What more do you want?"

"Your hair is brown. His is bronze."

"Whatthefuckever," I sigh, rolling my eyes. "We aren't that different. I mean, we've been best friends for five years," I point out.

"And you can barely stand each other as it is," she snorts. "Fighting all the time, bickering back and forth," she mutters, shaking her head.

"We stand each other just fine. And we don't fight constantly. He just has shitty ideals and tolerates mine. He balances me, and I balance him," I tell her with a nod, struck dumb at the realization spilling out of my mouth. I'd always thought our differences were just another thing to mock each other about, and in some ways it is. But in other ways...I think I'd feel lopsided without his stupid opinions shoved down my throat.

Alice is oblivious to my epiphany, continuing with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever. Edward doesn't match your level of..." her eyes sweep over me from head to toe, taking in my ratty hair, smudged mascara, rumpled clothing, and untied laces, "crazy."

"I'm not crazy!" I exclaim, raising my hands, the coffee spilling from my mug and splashing on my blouse. I hiss at the pain.

"Which you're proving thoroughly," she mutters with raised eyebrows, and I lower my arms, clearing my throat calmly.

"I am perfectly sane."

"No. Edward is sane. Edward is _normal_." She makes a face, popping up a finger for each of my exes she starts listing off. "He doesn't reek of stale Santas like PCG or use jazz hands every other minute like Garrett or think the government is out to get him like James or need the scent of chlorine to get his rocks off like Laurent."

"I told you that in confidence," I whisper fiercely.

"There's nobody else here," she whispers back. At my nod and mumbled, "Right," she continues. "What I'm saying, Bella, is that you date total freako weirdies and Edward is the mayor of Normalsville. He's just too ordinary."

I frown, completely disagreeing. Edward is weird. Maybe not me-weird, because let's face it, that level of weirdness takes years of training and devotion and deep-set emotional trauma, but in his own way, he is.

"He's really not," I counter, shaking my head. "He always needs to sit next to a window in restaurants. And he rearranges sugar packets by color from light to dark. For Christ's sake, Alice, I found a Walkman in his room two weeks ago. He's tons weird."

She snorts, shrugging with a roll of her eyes. "I guess that makes him just _perfect_ for you, then."

"I guess so," I laugh-mumble in response, and she elbows me hard in the ribs, making me yell in pain.

Her eyes are wide, brow raised. "I was kidding, for fuck's sake."

A scoff drops from my lips as I wave a hand. "I know _that_, Alice. God. Yeah, Totally," I laugh, poking her shoulder. "Me, too." And I was. Mostly. Definitely. Yeah, definitely. I think.

She purses her lips at me, probably unconvinced and maybe for good reason, before shrugging it off and reaching for her purse on the counter. "Well. If we're done talking about you and Edward becoming..._you and Edward_—"

"Oh, we are," I nod quickly. "So done. Donezo. Donezinni. Donezeroo." My chuckle hangs flat.

She blinks at me. "Okay you need food in you asap," she mutters before pulling out a white paper bag. I eye it with intense interest as she hands it over to me, because it looks like the kind that usually houses a type of pastry.

I peek inside before letting out a thankful groan. "Oh, God. Yes. Thank you, Jesus."

"You're welcome," she laughs as I stuff the ham-and-cheese croissant in my mouth, crumbs spewing from my mouth as I tell her thanks again.

"Oh, and Bella?" she asks, already heading for the door.

"Yeah?" I respond, only half-listening because eating this croissant feels like the reason God put me on this green Earth of his.

"Take a shower. You smell like the inside of a frat boy's mouth."

I spin around to flip her off, but the door is already slammed shut.

* * *

I wake up to the sound of someone knocking mercilessly on my door like the fucking Gestapo.

"Go away, Hitler," I moan into my pillow, rolling over on my back to pull it over my head.

The knocking doesn't stop, though, and I groan again, kicking off my blankets before stumbling out of bed. I blindly make my way through the hall and kitchen, fighting the urge to grab a knife for murdering the unwelcome door-knocker just barely, and finally swing the door open with a huffed, "What?"

"Whoa." Edward's eyebrows disappear into his hairline and his mouth opens wordlessly, eyes dropping to my apparel.

I follow his gaze and instantly flush, hugging my arms around my torso to make up for my lack of clothing. After Alice left, I took a shower and didn't bother changing into anything more than a t shirt and underwear before dropping dead in my bed, thankful for my workless Saturday.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask roughly, voice still thick from sleep.

My question seems to snap his attention back to my face and he clears his throat with a smile before holding up a brown paper bag seemingly out of nowhere. "I bought you replenishments."

I squint. "Is that even a word?"

"Of course it's a word, Bella, I'm not a heathen," he rolls his eyes. "And since when do you care about anything other than eating when presented with food?" He shakes the bag again, and my mouth instantly waters.

"You're right," I nod, moving to the side to let him in. Once he closes the door, I notice his outfit; dark fitted jeans, grey pullover, and dirty sneakers. It makes me feel that much underdressed.

We stand in my apartment in silence for a minute. "I'll just...go. To my room. And change," I clap once, wincing immediately afterwards, and walk to my room, hearing him trail behind me.

"I'll join you."

I turn around to throw him a face, muttering, "Dream on, Cullen" before he pinches the skin just above my ass.

"Hey!" I whip around.

"What?" His grin shows no remorse as he holds his hands up. "That wasn't me. I think you have a ghost in here."

I reach my bedroom and step in, telling him, "Stay," before shutting the door.

A pair of yoga pants later, I step into my kitchen to find him pouring some pasta on one of my plates. "I can't believe you showed up on my doorstep with food like that," I shake my head, taking a seat on a stool across from him.

"I tried calling you," he shrugs, making a plate for himself.

"I didn't hear my phone ring."

He scoffs. "You sleep through almost anything, Swan."

I gesture towards him. "Apparently not."

He just smiles. "Guess I'm just the exception, then."

"Yeah, or the defect."

He halts his actions momentarily to raise a brow at me. "Need I remind you that I'm the one who paid for this beauteous feast? Should you really be calling me anything other than your knight in shining hoodie right now?"

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. "I would've fended just fine without your interference, thank you."

He snorts. "Right, if by 'fending fine' you mean getting kicked out of a McDonald's for assaulting a Ronald McDonald poster."

I scoff. "Okay, first of all, I wasn't hungover then, I was _drunk_. Secondly, it was eyeing me funny. And thirdly," I begin, moving off my stool to stand next to him and inspect the brown paper bag, "it's not my fault that bitch behind the register wouldn't accept my perfectly good money," I huff.

He chuckles, elbowing my arm gently. "You tried to pay in fake golden coins. It's a miracle you weren't arrested."

"It's a miracle you still remember this shit," I grumble.

He tries not to smile, ultimately failing. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't commit to memory every embarrassing situation you've gotten in?"

"To hold it against me later," I clarify.

"I don't know about that," he starts, tilting his head before grinning crookedly. "There are so many other things I could hold against you." And then his hip is against mine and I feel my breath catch in my throat as he pushes oh-so-slightly against my side; it's the kind of pressure that could either be intentional or entirely accidental, and I can't find it in me to ask.

My reply is stuck in my throat for a moment, eyes locked with his, and then he moves away to grab a bowl from the dish rack, leaving me standing alone. My breath comes out in a shaky exhale that I try to cover up with a cough, turning my attention to the food he brought as he returns with the dishware.

"So." I scoop a spoonful of Parmesan, sprinkling it on my pasta. "Where's this stuff from again?"

"That Italian place that just opened down the street," he replies, folding up the empty containers.

My lips purse at his answer, a furrow automatically appearing between my eyebrows. I don't particularly like _new_. "Do they have garlic bread?"

"Would I have bothered you otherwise?" he almost laughs, pointing to a foiled tray.

I shrug, reaching in it and pulling out a piece of bread. "You always bother me."

He grins, grabbing his plate. "You like me bothering you," and my stomach clenches for some reason.

"I like you bothering me with free food," I correct.

"This is more me paying you back for the burrito than giving you free food."

I stare down at my cheese-filled plate. "If I didn't have to pay for it, it's free."

"Wait, are you sure that's what it means?" His forehead scrunches as he reaches for his phone in his pockets. "Let me look that up, just to be sure..."

I smack his stomach. "Asshole."

He stares at our plates, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly. "I can't believe we've talked for this long and this close to food without you putting any of it in your mouth."

"You're so right. I feel like I've just broken a record."

"You deserve a medal."

"Fuck the medal, gimme a beer," I nod to the refrigerator.

He chuckles, opening the fridge to grab two Coronas before using his hip to close it again. "You should probably pace yourself, though. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened last night." He raises his eyebrows slightly, pursing his lips, and I wish I knew what he was thinking.

"No," I nod, grabbing the bottle from him, biting my lip, and I watch his eyes fly to my mouth for a second before returning to my eyes. "We wouldn't."

We're settled in my couch a few minutes later, watching the Food Network while Edward tells me where Rachael Ray can stuff her chicken and I steal the rest of his garlic bread and he pretends not to notice, when Alice's words from earlier echo in my head.

_You and Edward are just...I don't see it. You guys have no chemistry. You're too different._

_She's wrong_, I think, and then stop my train of thought, because why the hell does Alice care so much about whether or not we're perfect for each other, anyway? And more importantly, why do I?

* * *

**A/N: I think you guys know why.**

**School has been sucking my time lately, and that's more or less the reason why I was late with this upload. It definitely isn't tumblr or Netflix's fault. Nope.**

**Meg helps me out when she isn't scaring the shit out of me by pretending to be Bloody Mary, and I literally had no idea what to post without her, so *waves pom poms* Go, Meg!**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**I don't own Twilight.**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"Rose, come on. Everyone would love it."

"They really wouldn't."

"It's classic!"

"It's _tacky_."

"It's awesome," Jasper persists.

"For the last time, Jasper, I am not throwing Emmett a Star Wars-themed birthday party. Give it a fucking rest," she says loudly, earning the attention of a few patrons in the coffee shop this Monday morning. After merely raising a brow, though, all gazes leave our little table of four.

Jasper pouts, and it makes him look that much more like a pedophile. "But Emmett loves it."

She scoffs. "He also loves porn, but there's no way in hell this surprise party is going to be sex-themed, either."

Alice tilts her head. "You know, you could probably find a way to combine the two."

Jasper gapes, blinking a few times before turning to Rose, who's glaring at his big-mouthed girlfriend. "Yes! Rose, it would be perfect!"

"Jasper. No."

"A Star Wars porn party could actually be pretty fun," I shrug with a grin, because pissing Rose off is entertaining as fuck. "You could dress up as Princess _Leia_ and let Emmett play with your buns."

Her ice blue eyes narrow at me while Alice laughs and Jasper nods in furious agreement.

"You could have light saber dildos," he grins.

Alice shrugs, "Or a naked cut-out of Han Solo."

"The theme would be, 'Feel The Force penetrate you,'" I muse, earning an attempted high five from Jasper that I instantly turn down.

Rose slams a well-manicured hand on the table, making our mugs wobble. "_You guys_. I am not throwing my boyfriend a porno Star Wars-themed birthday party, and that's final," she states firmly, leaving to get a refill on her coffee.

"Bad girlfriend Rose is. No sex she will get," Jasper calls after her in his best Yoda voice, sounding like the muffled sounds of a drowning cat.

"And neither will you, if you keep talking like that," Alice mutters.

I nod, squinting slightly. "You sound like Kermit the Frog."

He scoffs. "Jealous you are."

I sip my coffee with a shake of my head before Edward comes in through the door, looking frazzled and unkempt as usual. I'm about to wave him over to our table when I see another person come in with him, staying close by his side as they enter. It's a girl. Who's smiling at him. Who he's talking to. And now the two of them are standing in line. Together. They're still chatting when he catches my eye, giving me a small smile before turning his attention back to Door Girl, who puts her hand on his shoulder.

"Bella?"

I snap my gaze to Alice. "Huh?"

"I was asking if you're free for drinks later at Bird's Nest. Rose wants us to finalize the details for Emmett's party by tonight."

"Oh." I clear my throat, glancing back at Edward in line with that hand on his arm. _Who is that girl?_ "Uh, yeah, sure. What time?"

"Seven."

"Perfect," I mumble, rising from my seat. "I'll be right back. Just gonna use the bathroom."

I don't, though, instead heading straight to Edward's spot in line. They're laughing as I approach, and I shouldn't be this curious. What's so suspicious about laughter, anyway? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everyone laughs. Edward does it all the time. Usually with me.

I catch the tail end of their conversation before his eyes flicker over to me, eyebrows raising in acknowledgement as I reach their spot in line. "Bella, hey."

Mine raise right back, and I kinda refuse to acknowledge Door Girl's existence unless needed. "Hey," I greet him. "Um, so we're sitting over there," I nod over to the table where Alice is talking on her phone and Jasper's trying to discreetly caress his mustache, and turn back to Edward with a sigh. "Fucking Jasper."

"Fucking Jasper," he repeats, shaking his head with a smile.

"Who's Jasper?"

Door Girl's voice is perky, and as I turn in her direction, I see that her tone isn't the only thing that's bouncy.

"Oh. Uh, Jessica, this is Bella. Bella, Jessica. We work together," Edward tells me with a nod.

Her eyes are brown and her black hair is a stylized mess. She's wearing red boots, a white skirt, and a navy top, like the American flag personified. If the American flag had double-D's.

"Oh, hey. Nice to meet you, Jessica," I nod, giving a closed-mouth smile.

Her smile is wide as she nearly hollers, "You too, Bella!"

I try not to wince at her volume and Edward gives me a smirk, as if he can read my mind. I tilt my head in her direction, widening my eyes for a beat, and he licks his lips, smiling.

"So, are you joining us for breakfast, too?" I ask Perks.

She opens her mouth to answer, but Edward beats her to the punch as they shuffle forward in line.

"Uh, no. Actually, we don't have time to stay."

My brow furrows as I repeat, "We?"

"Yeah," he says, face falling a bit. "Work starts in fifteen, and we still need to stop by the car shop on ninth so they can tow Jessica's Jeep. It broke down," he explains.

I blink. "Broke down."

"Yeah," Jessica nods, shooting Edward a smile. "I was going down Brentwood when the engine just gave out. Luckily, Edward saw me on the side of the road and insisted he give me a ride," she giggles. Giggles.

"Well, it's on the way," he shrugs. "No big deal, Jess."

Right. No big deal. Who cares if he's missing breakfast with us and giving this busty, patriotic damsel in distress a ride because hers supposedly broke down? Not me.

Jessica gapes, slapping his chest, and I wish I knew why my eyes zero in on the action. "You saved me a good hour of hitchhiking, E. It's totally a big deal."

"Yeah, E. Totally," I snort, and he kicks my shoe, eyes telling me to play nice.

Perks giggles again. "You're lucky to have such a chivalrous friend, Bella."

I cough out a laugh, nodding. "Yeah, he's a regular knight in shining hoodie."

She frowns confusedly as the corner of Edward's mouth turns up. "Remember that."

I roll my eyes. "As if you'd let me forget."

He's about to say something in response when a loud "Next!" interrupts him, and I step back because they're now first in line. Jessica says it was nice to meet me and I tell her the same before she turns and relays her order to the cashier.

Edward leans down so his mouth is at my ear, his damp skin smelling like shower gel. "Sorry," he mumbles.

I pull back, squinting. "For?"

"Missing breakfast with you. Guys," he adds after a beat.

I pretend not to notice his slip or what it does to my pulse, shrugging instead. "No big deal," I mock, making him smile. "I'll see you later, right?"

"Bird's Nest at seven?"

I nod, and then he's being asked for his order so with one last wave, I leave and make my way back to the table.

Rose has returned, joining Alice and Jasper to peer curiously over at Edward and his perky company as I take my seat.

"Who's that?" she murmurs, stirring some cream in her already-milky latte.

Alice cranes her neck to get a better view. "And where did she get those shoes?"

Jasper's snicker cuts off my reply. "Oh, that's Jessica. Or as I like to call her, _Jugs_." His eyebrows waggle frantically as he clicks his tongue, and I smack his head.

Rose rolls her eyes. "Who is she?"

"His co-worker," I answer with a shrug.

"Co-worker?" Jasper repeats with a snort, rubbing his temple. "She's more than that."

I clear my throat as he takes a sip of his coffee. "What do you mean?"

He grins, setting his cup down. "She's been trying to hook up with our boy since the first day he started working at the zine."

"A year ago?" Alice gapes.

Jasper nods, "Yep. You can't imagine how many messages she's left for him back at the apartment. The girl calls almost every day. She's got it bad."

"Yeah, if by _it_, you mean split ends and garlic breath," I mutter to my coffee cake, the words out before I know it.

Rose's eyebrows shoot up as Jasper makes a screeching cat noise, his hand curled like a paw, and I smack him for the second time in less than five minutes.

"Wow. I take it you don't like her very much, Bella," Alice mutters before sipping her iced tea, and why is she grinning?

Rose interrupts me before I can provide an answer. "Well does Edward?"

"Hell if I know," Jasper snorts. "You know he doesn't tell me anything about that shit."

"I wonder why," I mutter, looking up to find all eyes on me. "What?"

Rose gives me a look. "Edward tells you everything, Bella. Has he ever mentioned his chesty friend before?"

I shrug. "Nope. He's probably not all that into her," I tell them, but it feels like I'm saying the words to myself. Why wouldn't he mention a semi-attractive girl at work who's been hitting on him for a year? Maybe he really is into her. Maybe he likes her enough not to jinx it by talking about it. Or maybe I should stop talking to myself.

"Whatever," Jasper shakes his head. "He needs to hit that asap. I mean, look at her."

"She's alright," I shrug. If you like big hair and bigger tits.

"_Alright?_" he repeats, widening his eyes. "Have you seen the size of her—" Alice kicks him under the table before he can finish, making him yelp in pain. "What?" he hisses. "I was gonna say brains! The size of her _brains_."

"Sure, Romeo," she mutters. "What's her name, anyway?"

I try not to spit the word out like a piece of mulch in my mouth. "Jessica."

"Jessica?" Alice frowns.

"That's a fat girl name," Rose interjects, biting into her blueberry muffin.

Jasper whistles. "I can think of two places where she stores it."

"And on that note, we're leaving." Alice gets up from her chair, grabbing Jasper's unfinished croissant and her empty cup to toss in the trash.

"Hey!" he protests, rising from his seat as well. "I wasn't done with that."

"You're lucky I'm not done with you," Alice mutters before turning to Rose and me. "So. Bird's Nest Bar?"

Rose nods as my eyes inconspicuously search for the flame of Edward's hair around the coffee bar in hopes that he hasn't left yet, and I see him by one of the espresso machines, drumming his fingers on the counter. Jessica pops up from behind him with two cups, beaming at his politely pleased face, and the two make their way towards the exit before he catches my eye, offering me a quick grin that I return with a small wave before they step through the door, gone.

* * *

I'm sipping on my second beer at approximately 7:13 ten hours later, watching the entrance and drowning out Jasper's semi-drunken rendition of Run The World when Edward steps in, scanning the crowds. I wave him down and his eyes settle on me as he starts walking towards our table, a tired yet relieved expression on his face.

"You're late," Rose states when he reaches us.

He takes a seat next to me in the booth, sighing. "Yeah, sorry. I got caught up with work. This new article's whipping my ass," he explains before flagging down a waiter and ordering a Corona.

He turns to me. "Hi."

I manage a small smile, unable to pinpoint the reason I'm in such a sour mood. "Hey."

"How was work?" he asks me, and I shrug in return.

"The usual. You sound busy, though," and I don't mean to sound suspicious, but I might as well be interrogating him.

"You seem to have your hands full," Alice interjects, tipping back her margarita. "Maybe you could ask Jessica for some help," she smirks.

"And then you could have your hands full of _her_," Jasper snorts, waggling his eyebrows.

Edward scoffs, shaking his head, but says nothing. It irks me.

"He'd probably have his hands full with more plastic than actual flesh," I mumble in annoyance, taking another gulp of my drink.

Rose snickers and Alice rolls her eyes, Jasper's face genuinely confused and maybe a little offended as Edward's eyes rove down my face, raising a brow.

"Are you okay?"

"What? Yeah. I'm fine," I answer with a shrug. "Just Super."

He cracks a smile. "Like with a cape?"

"Plus a shield."

He chuckles, but still searches my face. "You sure?"

I shrug again, unwilling to mention how the image of Jessica's hand on his shoulder is pretty much burned in my mind. "Um, yeah. Just bummed that I didn't get to see you that much this morning, I guess."

"Oh, really?" His grin spreads slowly, and I roll my eyes.

"Yes, really," I answer, bumping my shoulder with his. "I nearly decked Jasper twice for quoting Britney Spears when he spilled his coffee three times this morning, and Alice wouldn't stop messing with my hair. Don't leave me alone with these savages again."

"Hey!" Alice protests, before Jasper huffs, "_Oops I Did It Again_ is catchy as fuck, Bella, don't deny that."

I turn to Edward with a sigh. "See what I mean?"

He smiles, "I'm here now."

I nod wordlessly in return, keeping my eyes on the table, and when I look up again, he's staring at me curiously. After a second, he shakes it off, joining the rest of the table in a conversation concerning what cuisine to serve at Emmett's party as I down the rest of my beer.

I start to get tipsy after two shots and another Stella, slowly nodding my head along to Sea Wolf in the background before I feel something settling on my thigh, warm and soft.

"What the—" I glance down to see if something spilled on me, and find a hand resting just above my knee instead. Edward's hand.

My eyes fly to his face and I see him nodding along to something Jasper's saying, responding appropriately before taking a gulp of beer, expression completely cool. As if his palm isn't playing tag with my leg underneath the table.

His fingers clench my thigh slightly, making me inhale shakily, and the corner of his mouth turns up the tiniest bit. His hand travels downwards, tickling my kneecap before rubbing it gently, and the heat of his touch combined with my alcohol-induced loopiness are sending my heart flying. My pulse feels like it might just beat out of my wrist.

"Bella. _Bella_."

"Hmm?" I gulp, turning to Alice, hoping she doesn't notice my lack of breath.

She does, though, brow furrowed in concern. "Are you okay?"

His hand returns to my thigh, thumb rubbing firm circles inward, creeping higher, and I can barely form a thought with him touching me like that.

I clear my throat, "Um, what?"

"You're completely flushed," Rose adds, forehead scrunched. "Are you feeling hot?"

Edward's smirk could be seen from Pluto as his hand continues its ascent, making me gulp, and I kick his leg under the table. Hard.

"Ow!" Jasper yelps, face creased with pain as he crouches down to rub his shin that I probably just dented. "What the fuck, Bella?"

_Shit_.

The son of a bitch next to me tries to cover up his laugh with a cough, placing a hand over his mouth to hide his smug-ass smile.

"Sorry," I blurt out, shaking my head. The soft warmth of his hand leaves my leg and I'm simultaneously relieved and disappointed. "My leg was feeling sleepy. I was trying to shake it awake," I reason weakly.

"Oh, yeah, that happens to me all the time," Edward pitches in, nodding seriously.

Jasper pouts for the second time in one day but drops it before leaving to get another round of drinks and after a minute, Alice excuses herself to go to the bathroom, joined by Rose.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hiss to Edward when we're left completely alone.

He shrugs, "I could ask you the same thing."

"What?"

"Something's bothering you," he insists.

"I'm completely fine."

"Really?" he grins. "Because you look a little flushed."

"You're an ass."

"Is that why you're so pissed?"

I take a swig of my fourth beer, ignoring the voice inside that tells me to stop. "I'm not pissed."

He places his hand on my forearm, causing me to look up in his eyes. They're that stupidly vivid shade of green again, and it makes me breathless in a weird way. "Bella."

"How's Jessica?" I blurt out.

He wasn't expecting that. "What?"

I shake his hold off my arm with a shrug, the motion making me a little lightheaded. "She's pretty hot, huh?"

He looks perplexed, but amused. "Where are you going with this?"

"She's got a great rack," I continue. "And did you see that skin? Flawless. Like fucking airbrushed. Does she use Bare Minerals?" I ramble. "I bet you'd like to see _her_ bare minerals, if ya know what I mean," I elbow his side, clicking my tongue before chugging more of my Blue Moon.

His gaze is blank, so I continue, the words spilling out of my mouth before my brain can catch up with them. "Naked, I mean. She'd look great naked. Did you see that ass? That is top-quality ass, I tell ya. An A-plus ass. That's the kind of ass you wanna introduce to your parents, you know?"

"Okay," he says slowly, looking at me as if I'm mentally handicapped. "I know you just got over a shitty break-up, but you're not seriously considering playing for the other team, are you?"

"What?"

"You know..." he mumbles, bringing his mouth to my ear. "Preferring doing the breaststroke over using the pogo stick."

I pull back to punch his shoulder. "You dick."

"What?" He rubs his arm, but his lips pull up slightly. "Does this mean you're not choosing tacos over hot dogs?"

"Stop."

"You don't want the V instead of the D?"

"You need to shut up."

He raises a brow. "You're the one who keeps talking Jessica up as if she invented coffee. Do you want her number or something?" he scoffs.

I gulp. "You have it?"

"Well yeah," he shrugs, and I inhale. "I mean, we're co-workers. I kinda have everyone's numbers in the office." He searches my face. "Why?"

"Nothing, it's just..." The words are rushed with a forced carelessness. "You guys would make such a cute couple."

"What?" he nearly laughs.

"You and Jessica," I clarify. "You guys didn't argue once when you were in line. That's the sign of a truly successful relationship, you know. Nothing like you and me."

His face loses most of its humor, eyes narrowing slightly as he licks his lips. "You and me?"

"Yeah," I continue, tipping back the rest of my drink. "You know how we argue all the time."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do."

"We really don—" he catches himself before continuing, clearing his throat. "Okay, maybe we do."

I smirk, and he tugs on a piece of my hair gently, the stinging sensation bringing me closer to sobriety. I hate when he pulls my hair. But I never stop him.

"So what if we do?" he continues, shrugging.

"So nothing," I shrug back. "We'd be a disastrous couple is all. I mean, that's what Alice was saying."

"Alice?" he scoffs. "You spoke to Alice about this?"

"Sorta," I mumble before burping. "She said you don't match my level of crazy."

He bites his lip to keep from grinning. "You're not crazy."

"That's what I said!" I gasp loudly before hiccuping twice. "I'm just a little weird, is all. Oh, and then she said you were the most ordinary dude she's ever met."

"She said that?"

"Something like that, yeah. But I told her she was wrong."

"She really is."

"I know," I nod, staring at his fingers wrapped around the neck of his bottle. "You're like, so weird."

He's smiling when I glance up at him. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Anyway, she convinced me pretty well that the idea of you and me together is ludicrous," I snort.

"Yeah? Like we'd be acting a fool if we got together?"

I roll my eyes at his reference, but can't keep from smiling. "Yeah."

"Hey, Bella."

"Hey, Edward."

"Don't listen to Alice."

I blink at him, and he just stares back. Neither of us says anything for a moment.

"What do you mean?" I finally murmur.

His eyes don't leave mine as he shrugs, the casual gesture an extreme contrast to the depth of his stare. "She doesn't know shit."

I have no answer to that, only more questions, and before I can voice a single one, the topic of conversation plops back in the booth, accompanied by Rose.

"Hey," she says brightly, reaching for her drink. "What'd we miss?"

"Nothing," I mumble, feeling Edward's eyes on me.

"Nothing," he agrees.

By the time Jasper has come back and Rose is giving us the itinerary for Emmett's party, I sneak a glance downwards at Edward's hands. They're in his pockets.

* * *

**A/N: I hope this semi-handsy Edward makes up for my heinous updating schedule lately. Shout out to any Jessica's.**

**School sucks. Meg rocks. End of.**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**I don't own Twilight.**

**Oh also, there's a bit of a Spider-Man comic spoiler somewhere down there. So be on the look out for that, Spidey fans.**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

I wait about half an hour before he wakes up.

His grunt pulls me from my book and I lift my head as he shuffles in bed, rolling belly-up with a groan. He yawns a curse, stretching, and blinks up at the ceiling for a few seconds before I clear my throat, making my presence known.

Edward's eyes snap to mine. "Holy shit," he mumbles, squinting at the cross of my bare legs on his rug. "What are you doing there?"

My book snaps shut. "Sorry, Jasper let me in. I was just waiting for—"

"No," he closes his eyes to rub them. "What are you doing _there_, sitting on the fucking floor?"

I rise from my seat against his wall, shaking off dust from my ass. "You don't have any chairs in here."

He yawns again, sitting up to lean his back against the headboard. "It's not a waiting room."

"Funny, because that's what I was doing."

"_You_ were waiting for _me?_" he starts to smile, eyes crinkling with something more than sleep. "That's new."

"What does that mean?" I narrow my eyes, folding my arms across my chest as I begin walking closer to his bed.

He clears his thick throat with a noncommittal shrug before running a hand through his bedhead, and glances at his rug. "Don't sit on the floor like a fucking watch dog when I'm asleep, Bella."

My laugh is short. "I don't mind, Edward."

"I do." He pats the space next to him on the mattress. "My bed is a lot more comfortable than the floor. Or don't you remember?" He grins sleepily, and I have to bite my lip to keep from returning it as I roll my eyes.

"I didn't want to wake you."

"I wouldn't have minded."

All I can do is blink at that, and I'm still trying to figure out how to respond when he adds with a smirk, "As long as you'd be braless again, of course."

"Nice to know the terms and conditions," I mutter, reaching for a pillow to throw at his smug face. I miss, of course, and end up knocking over his alarm clock.

He groans, bending to pick up the fallen object and blinking at it for a moment. "It's only twelve?" He places it on the table before shooting a quizzical glance at me. "How are you awake before me? I had to drag you out of Bird's Nest to keep you from hooking up with the bartender last night, you were so drunk."

"Yeah, thanks for that, by the way," I sigh, sitting on the corner of his bed. "I think he may be married."

His chest rumbles with a low laugh. "Nevermind the rumors surrounding his coke addiction."

"Oh, come on, those have to be false," I shrug nonchalantly. "Besides, I can deal with drugs."

He rubs his brow, eyes closed. "I think you just inadvertently stated that you're a drug dealer."

"I guess it's time you found out," I sigh. "At least it's from me."

"You know, you _would_ go off and become a drug dealer. That's how you pay for that fancy apartment of yours, isn't it? Bookstore clerk's salary my ass."

"_Hey_. All my drug money goes to charity, you know that."

"Actually, I don't, since you kept this massive secret from me," he counters. "I don't think I can recover from such betrayal."

"I was trying to protect you!" I smack the nearest body part of his, and he yelps, rubbing his shin. "Look what happened when Peter Parker got Gwen Stacy involved in all that Spider-Man shit. She died."

"Wow, spoiler alert," Edward mumbles. "And did you just compare me to Gwen Stacy, making you Spider-Man?" He doesn't wait for my answer as he continues. "More importantly, did you just compare Spider-Man's heroics to your drug-dealing?"

"It's early," I whine when I can't think of a response.

He chuckles, reaching over to mess with my hair, ignoring my complaints. "Which reminds me. What are you doing here at the ungodly hour of noon? Not that I mind," he adds quickly, poking my shoulder before giving me a once-over. "Especially when you're dressed so nicely."

My eyebrows raise slightly as I nod. "Almost as if I'm...going somewhere. Like a party." His forehead scrunches, so I continue. "A work party. Like the kind a friend invited me to because an open bar was promised and no one appreciates free alcohol more than me...party."

"Fuck," he mutters, lurching forward instantly, rubbing his eyes hard as if it'll force him to wake up. "Shit. Fuck. Damn it."

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as he bounces out of bed, bumping into his bedside table. "Did you forget?"

"About the annual office shindig I need to attend because my boss will cut my balls off otherwise?" His laugh is frenzied, almost breathless as he rummages through his drawers for clothes. "No, of course I didn't forget, Bella. That would make me an idiot."

I watch his panic for a moment, remembering when he asked me to go to this thing a month ago. I only said yes since I didn't have work or a lack of brain cells because really, who says no to free booze? _Plus it'd only be for a few hours_, he said. _No big deal_.

"Maybe you should just call in sick," I shrug, because his nerves are starting to remind me of my own and it's true that this is just a work party, but I won't know anyone there. Except Edward. And I don't do particularly well with strangers. "There will be other beers for me to mooch in the future, you know."

"I have to go," he mutters to the closet, his back to me. "I need to kiss major ass to the boss man's friends if I wanna keep my job. And," he adds, turning around to face me with an armful of clothes, "if I'm going, you most definitely are coming. I have to stay sane somehow."

"What, and Jessica doesn't provide enough mental stimulation?" I tease.

He purses his lips, eyes narrowed slightly. "She won't be there, much to your dismay. Maybe at the next work party, you can woo her with your riveting intro-to-drug-dealing story and she'll fall head over heels."

"Har fucking har," I grumble, fidgeting with the corner of his blanket. "What's wrong with her car this time? Maybe you could offer her another lift."

His mouth lifts slightly in an almost-smile, the expression throwing me completely off guard. "She's sick, Bella. There's a heinous bug going around, and she caught it. I won't be giving her a lift—or anything else, for that matter—for a while."

And I'm glad that he turns around to inspect his closet, because I don't think I could come up with even a half-assed excuse for the smile on my face.

* * *

The shindig isn't being held in some fancy hotel or country club, thank God, but Edward's boss's home might as well be one. It's a colossal house with an even bigger backyard; wooden tables are scattered about with linen tablecloths, uniformed waiters weave through the crowds carrying drinks, a live band plays a classic swing number in the corner, and there's even a fucking ice sculpture. Like an actual sculpture. Made of ice.

There's not a single pair of jeans in sight.

Glancing down at my casual knee-length navy dress, I get the distinct feeling I may not be appropriately clothed.

"I didn't get the blazer memo," I murmur into Edward's ear, standing at the entrance to the backyard.

He squeezes my hand once, scanning the crowds. "You're fine."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Khaki," I hiss. "I'm not wearing pants."

"So I've noticed," he murmurs, eyes sliding to my legs, and the look on his face makes my throat constrict. "Come on," he tugs on my arm. "It's only for a few hours. Let's find some seats."

I sigh but follow after him, using my hand to shield my vision from the late afternoon sun. After a few minutes into our hunt for a table, I start to notice something that shocks me a little.

Edward is popular.

We're stopped by various suit-clad businessmen and their respectively pantsuit-wearing wives about five times in a three-minute period, all of them chatting with him about articles he's written or work that needs editing or new positions opening, and I begin to realize that Edward's been offered jobs in other branches repeatedly within the last year. He politely declines each time someone brings up another positional offer or changes the subject, though, and I find myself squinting at his sun-reddened face when we finally find a table.

He shrugs out of his jacket when we sit down. "You want a drink?"

"Why don't you take that job in Seattle?" I ask, completely ignoring his question.

"What?"

"That man with the eyebrows and big buttons mentioned an opening in Washington," I explain. "It seems like he's offered it to you before. Why haven't you taken it?"

"Oh, Peter? He spews that shit to everyone around here, not just me. Just haven't thought about it, I guess," he shrugs. "You want a beer? I'm parched."

"Why haven't you thought about it?" I press, ignoring his attempts at changing the subject. "I heard the man. It makes double your current salary, Edward."

He smiles a little, raising his eyebrows. "Are you seriously grilling me about my career decisions at a work party?"

I shrug. "I'm just curious as to why my best friend doesn't better his living situations and take a job that makes serious bank when it's repeatedly offered to him."

"Maybe because he doesn't believe that money is everything," he offers.

I roll my eyes. "Seriously, why not? It sounds like something right up your alley."

"_Chicago_ is right up my alley," he shoots back. "Washington is across the country."

"You know about these things called planes, right?" I ask and he sighs. "They're used for the very purpose of taking people across the country."

"Why are we discussing this?" he chuckles short, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not leaving Chicago."

"Why not?" I scoff.

"I don't know, Bella," he exhales deeply, staring straight at me. "I think I'd miss it too much."

"What's to miss?" I joke, but he doesn't laugh. "Come on, Edward," I continue, nudging his leg with mine. "It sounds like a great opportunity. What could you possibly be waiting for?"

"Maybe it's not what I'm waiting for," he replies softly with a shrug, gazing down at our connected knees before his eyes flicker to mine. "Maybe it's who."

My skin suddenly ripples and I don't know why my breathing turns shaky, but I can barely form my next words. "You mean whom?"

He blinks. "What?"

"The person you're waiting for; they're the object of the sentence, right?" I clear my throat. "You use whom instead of who. _Who_ is for subject, when _whom_ is for object."

"What's the difference between subject and object?"

"The subject is the person doing something, whereas the object is having something done...to, um, it." I falter towards the end, noticing the curve of Edward's lips pulling upwards. "Why are you smiling?"

His grin grows wider, those grass green eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nothing. I'm just really glad you're here. I seriously don't know what I'd do without you." He clears his throat, grin fading. "Here," he adds.

My stomach flips at his words, but I smile with a casual shrug. "Probably die of boredom."

"Says the girl who just gave me an English lecture."

"I can go, if you like." I fake rising from my seat and he grips my arm firmly.

"Okay, no, you're right," he laughs, letting my arm go only after my ass meets the chair again. "I'd definitely die of boredom. Or of thirst." He clears his throat, and it's his turn to rise from the table. "I'm gonna get us some drinks. Beer?"

I nod. "Beer."

With a smile, he leaves, and I'm left alone at the table. I listen to the live band for a bit and enjoy the crisp breeze before he returns with our drinks. For most of the late afternoon, we sit in the shaded sunshine making fun of some guy's toupee, chatting with some of Edward's coworkers, and taking bets on how much the ice sculpture will have ended by sundown.

I've only had two beers, but I start feeling a lightness when Edward's eyes meet mine in the midst of our conversation. It's not as disorienting as dizziness, but it carries the same wonderment, the same knot at the bottom of my stomach that tightens when his hand grazes my thigh or he smiles crookedly or offers me a joking wink. That energy from the night we almost kissed is there again, charged and heavy, and I'm a lot more curious than nervous now.

After a while, his hand has taken seemingly permanent residence at my knee, his smile is never-ending, and his cheeks are rosy despite the setting sun, eyes carrying a glint that I know far too well.

"Are you drunk?" I ask when his finger starts tapping a sloppy rhythm against my kneecap.

"Hmm?" is his garbled response as he turns to me with slowly-blinking eyes.

"Oh, my God," I whisper-laugh. "You are drunk."

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm not drunk. I can't be." But when he tries to shake his head again, he ends up crossing his eyes.

"Easy there," I chuckle, placing my hands on his shoulders to steady his head.

He blinks a few times, then raises his eyebrows. "See? Perfectly fine," he smiles, slow and lazy. "Just a lil' buzzed."

"I can't believe you're drunk," I continue in a whisper. "That's my job."

"Stop saying I'm drunk," he hisses, the volume of his forced whisper well above conversational. He might as well be yelling. "I'm at a work party. I can't be drunk."

I smile at his constant use of the d word and his face lights up suddenly, mouth opening in a gasp. "What?" I ask.

He grabs my hand and stands, eyes giddy. "Let's dance."

"_What?_" I yank my hand back. "No."

"Come on, Bella!"

"Edward. I don't dance."

He rolls his eyes. "Who are you, Corbin Bleu from High School Musical 2?"

My head cocks backwards a little, eyebrows shooting up. "Uh, okay, let's talk about how you know that information and why you're never mentioning it ever again."

He ignores me. "I love this song."

"You don't even know this song." He does.

"Yes I do," he nods vigorously. "And you do, too."

"No, I don't." Yes I do.

"God, would you quit being a party-pooper and come on," he grabs my hand again, and this time puts enough effort to pull me from my seat.

"Shit," I hiss, standing up against my will. Damn his freakish lanky strength. "I can't believe you're forcing me to dance with you. I don't even dance. And you just said _party-pooper_."

"I'd rather say it than be it," he murmurs with a smile, dragging me to an open grassy area near the band where a small crowd of four or five couples are swaying to the music.

I stand there, arms awkwardly hanging at my sides, wondering what I'm supposed to do when he steps closer with a grin. "It's dancing, Bella, not rocket science."

"Shut up," I grumble.

His smile softens as he takes my hands and places my arms around his neck. He steps forward so our bodies are almost pressed together and clutches my waist, swaying a few times. My head fits below his chin, and he rests he slides his hands to the small of my back. As it turns out, dancing is surprisingly easy. With Edward, anyway. Like pretty much everything.

"See?" he murmurs in my ear. "Not so bad."

"I'm only doing this because you're drunk and failure to humor you would result in a massively embarrassing tantrum on your part."

His chuckle is deep in his chest, and I place my ear against it reflexively, mesmerized by the rhythm of his pounding heart. "I'm not drunk, I told you."

I pull back slightly, inspecting his face. "You're grinning like a loon, you keep slurring your words, and your cheeks are red. Plus you're dancing. With me." I nod once. "You're drunk."

He narrows his eyes a little, but the stupid grin is still in place. "I think you're confusing me drunk with me happy."

"Happy," I repeat, suspiciously raising a brow.

"Yes, happy," he says, laughing at my reaction. "It's not exactly a foreign concept." He presses against me a little tighter, his hands taking a firmer hold on my hips, and I hate how my breath hitches. "Especially with you around."

My breath stutters as I refuse to look at him, eyes zeroing in on his tie, and he has to be drunk. "Edward," I warn, too dumbstruck to say anything else.

"Bella." His tone mimics mine. His finger pushes against the bottom of my chin, forcing me to look up. "Have I already mentioned how fucking beautiful you look, by the way?"

Edward calls me a lot of things. _Hot_ when I wear shorts and let my hair down, _pretty_ when I put on lipstick, and _really good_ when I wear heels. But he doesn't call me beautiful. That's not how he is with me. Or was.

I gulp. "What?"

His eyes sweep down to my legs and back up. "Because you do," he continues.

"Edward." Maybe one day I'll learn to say something other than his name.

I glance down, and his response is to stop us from swaying so we stand still, my thoughts overlapping, tangling, crossing over and then completely blown to bits when I raise my head to speak and am suddenly met with his lips on mine.

And we're kissing. Edward and me.

My surprise is instant, our lips hesitant and curious at first, like trying to learn the keys to an old song, but then he pushes his mouth harder against mine, and the shock bleeds into a warm yearning. His hands steady my waist as he kisses me more firmly, and I open my mouth wider, wanting to deepen it, surprised at how _good_ this feels. Not weird, not strange, not odd. But good. So fucking good. His groan vibrates against my lips and I grab at his hair, forgetting about our audience and location and history as his tongue slips past my lips.

He's the first to break it, pulling away with a wet sound that makes me shiver, and I blink my eyes open lazily to find his heavy-lidded and staring straight at me. There's something new on his face, something I only caught a glimpse of however many nights ago it was that we almost did _this_. It's raw and needy and eager, and I think it probably matches the look on my face, too.

"You wanna get out of here?" he pants, eyeing my mouth.

I lick my lips, nodding. "Yeah."

* * *

**A/N: Let's say it altogether now: FINALLY.**

**My laptop is a deep-fried piece of shit so if I take long with updates, that's why. Just blame failing technology. Also this was written kinda sorta hastily in less than a day and if it doesn't make sense, just nod along. **

**No offense to any members of the HSM fandom. Or readers with toupees. Oh and the song was Moonlight Serenade, if anyone's interested!**

**Thank you to those who recc'd this on TLS! This is the first time something like this has happened to me, so I'm a little out of sorts? I think I'm supposed to ask y'all to vote? So yeah. Vote. Or else I'll make Edward fall in love with Corbin Bleu and ditch Bella for a life forever devoted to dancing on a baseball diamond. Kidding.**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**I don't own Twilight**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Ten minutes later, we end up at my place.

There's no awkward pause, no stilted easing when I shut the door and whip around to see him staring at me, the purse of his lips reminding me of their taste. He blinks once and I gaze back and it's natural and wordless, the way he lurches forward to crash his mouth against mine before I can even offer him a beer. Our mouths move in a frantic, frenzied rhythm, and I'm struck again at how _good_ this feels; my hands in his hair, his fingers digging in my hips. It's almost natural.

He walks me backwards to my couch and I land on the cushion with a grunt against his lips, our mouths staying connected when he plops down next to me. He deepens it this time, lips urgent and soft as his tongue seeks mine out, his groan tasting of spearmint and spice and beer, and then everything clicks suddenly and I feel like I'm being shaken awake.

I'm kissing Edward. _Edward_. And more importantly, I like it.

"Edward," I pant, pulling away slightly, and it's the first time either of us has said anything since we left the party.

"Yeah?" he mumbles against the corner of my mouth.

I grip his shoulders and push him away a little so we're face to face, his familiar green depths flashing with something new that leaves me lightheaded and heavy-lidded.

I blink at his mouth, knowing I'm the reason it's so red. "You kissed me," I state dumbly.

He nods slowly, pursed lips melting into a small smile. "I remember," he says, words a little breathless. "I was there."

"Why?"

He raises eyebrows, chest still heaving. "Why was I there? Kinda crucial, don't you think?"

I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath. "Why did you kiss me?"

"Why do you think?"

"Are you drunk?" I ask, letting my hands fall from his shoulders to my lap.

He sighs, breaking eye contact. "Bella."

"You're drunk, aren't you?" I lick my lips again, and nod. "I taste beer."

"I'm not drunk," he states, almost sounding insulted. "Seriously? You think that's the only reasonable explanation for why I'd kiss you?"

I shrug, saying the first thing that pops in my head. "Jamie Foxx did say that the Goose could get you feeling loose."

He rolls his eyes even as the corner of his mouth lifts up. "You are such a dork."

"A dork that you kissed," I counter. "For seemingly no reason."

He watches me with a smile before leaning forward so his mouth brushes my jaw. "Do I need one?"

"A reason?" I ask, and he nods, lips at my ear. My inhale is shaky as his mouth skates across my cheek, coming closer to where my teeth are starting to clench. "Yeah," I breathe. "You do. I'm a fan of reasons."

"Like Hoobastank," he mumbles against the skin between my cheek and jawline, needing only the slightest shift of my neck for our mouths to meet.

"Like Hoobastank," I repeat, his answering chuckle vibrating against my lips.

"Edward," I breathe, and it sounds like a warning and a plea, his name tasting so different on my tongue. With a mere shift of his head, his lips brush mine once and just like that, we've picked up the rhythm from before, mouths moving frantically. It's frustrating and delicious, the way he can pull me back in again with a mere touch of his lips, but I can only drown out my thoughts for so long.

"What," I murmur against his mouth before pulling away completely, gripping his hair to push his head from mine. He blinks at me, panting, and I gulp, shaking my head to get my thoughts together as my hands return to my lap because I need some fucking answers. "What are we doing?"

"I believe the modern term for it is kissing. I can demonstrate it in more depth, if you'd only let me," he mutters, leaning forward.

"Edward." I place my hands against his chest to stop him, unable to help how my lips pull upwards slightly. "You know what I mean."

"Rarely anyone does," he shoots back, setting back, and I smack his arm.

"_You_ do," I counter, raising my eyebrows. "And it's not just the kissing, it's not just now." I shake my head, inhaling. "You've been...weird."

"Weird?" he repeats.

"Yes, weird."

"Isn't that _your_ thing, Swan?" he asks with a smug grin. "I thought Alice said I was the boring one and you're the one with the crazy."

"And I thought you said I shouldn't listen to Alice."

He shrugs a little, eyes trained on mine. "You shouldn't."

"Uh, okay, I'm not the only one who sees the contradiction there, right?" I don't give him a chance to respond, memories of that instance igniting my frustration. "And speaking of _weird_, what was that thing you did under the table that night?"

"That thing?"

"You know what thing I'm talking about," I say with narrowed eyes. "_That thing_."

"What thing?"

"That thing!" I repeat.

He nods, raising his hands a little. "Okay, Lauryn Hill, calm down."

"Why was your hand trying to hump my knee," I blurt out, needing to get to the point.

He winces at my description, shaking his head. "So articulate, Bella." But then his eyes meet mine again, the hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "You liked it, then? It didn't get you too hot?"

"Oh my God," I groan, face buried in my hands.

He just laughs.

"You realize you've been acting bizarre since last week, right?" I ask, voice muffled.

"What was last week?"

"You—and me...I broke up with Mike."

"And you think I took your break-up with PCG harder than you did?" he guesses.

I raise my face from my hands, glaring at him. "Can you be serious for like, one second?"

He widens his eyes dramatically. "Can you _not_ be serious for like, one second?"

I sigh, calming the crazy. "That night, you...I...your couch. I spilled the beer. And your hand—My lips. And throat. You wiped—and then you _leaned!_ But then Jasper. You...know."

It's dead silent as Edward blinks once, eyebrows furrowed, and I'm fully convinced he's about to wheel me off to the nearest nuthouse when he purses his lips before busting out in laughter.

"Why the fuck are you laughing?" I huff.

"Because," he continues chuckling, using a hand to wipe under one of his eyes, "you're hilarious. And crazy."

"Gee, thanks," I mutter dryly.

"I like your crazy," he replies, voice soft and devoid of any traces of prior humor.

I sigh, fingers fidgeting. "Did you...if Jasper hadn't interrupted last week. Would you have..." I trail off and bite my lip, willing him to finish my thought.

"Yeah," he answers with a nod, and the relief I feel nearly overwhelms me, because I fucking knew I wasn't imagining shit that night, but then the relief swiftly it turns to confusion because why the hell would he want to kiss me? Because we were drunk? Because I was newly single? Or both? What does this mean? Was the kiss earlier just another drunken slip?

"Bella." My eyes fly to his. "Stop overthinking this."

"Overthinking what?" I squeak. He knows me too well.

"I know what you're trying to do."

Way too fucking well. "What am I trying to do?"

His eyes narrow. "You're trying to define this."

"Define what?"

"Okay, stop."

I sigh, blowing out a gust of air that ruffles my bangs. "I'm just...confused."

He nods, expression understanding. "Because you take more time to process things than most snails take to cross my lawn."

"You're such an ass," I huff, making him chuckle. "And you don't even have a lawn."

"Bella." His smiles softens, eyes growing serious as he snatches one of my hands to play with my fingers. "Do you like kissing me?"

"Yes," I blurt out. "I mean...well." I clear my throat, nodding with a shrug. "Yeah. I do."

He grins, nodding once. "Great. I like kissing you, too. There. Confusion done with."

"Edward, it's not that simple."

"Bella, it's not that hard."

I sigh and he rubs my wrist a little to ease the tension. I glance down at his hold on me, intrigued by how comforting the small gesture is.

"Listen," he starts, ducking his head so our eyes meet. "Neither of us are huge on the whole fluffy romance shit, which is why this is pretty fucking perfect. Nothing has to change. Everything will be the same, except we can make out anytime. And other stuff," he adds with a grin.

I process his words, squinting a little. _Make out. And other stuff._ "So what, we'd be like friends with benefits or some shit?"

"What?"

"That never ends well, Edward, look at Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake. Fucking catastrophe. I couldn't even make it to the end of the movie."

"Bella." He grips my knee. "I don't mean we should be a couple of fucking _'cum chums_.'"

"Then what do you mean?"

"I mean," he starts, releasing an exhale as he rubbing the back of his neck, "that I dig you."

"You dig me," I repeat, his words causing a slow bundle of nerves to rise from my stomach that I try to submerge with a joke. "What are you, a coal miner?"

"Jesus," he whispers through a small smile, shaking his head. He faces me, taking a deep breath. "I like you, Bella."

My stomach flips, and it's not unpleasant. "You like me?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips as he looks past me. "And I wanna be with you."

"You wanna be with me."

"And you're freaking out."

"And I'm freaking—_Hey_," I exclaim, words registering.

He smiles, nudging my leg with his. "I had to get you to snap out of it."

"I'm just..." I trail off, blinking once. It's a lot to take in.

"That night, when Mike broke up with you, I was...I was happy." My eyes flash to his and he immediately looks ashamed. "No, I mean, I was sad for you, of course. But I was happy for me, because that meant I finally had a chance. I was happy, and I was sad. At the same time. And now I sound like an emotional wreck when really I'm just trying to tell you that I want you," he sighs, flustered.

"Same difference," I mutter distractedly.

"I didn't want to say anything," he continues, letting his head fall against the back of my couch. "I didn't want to freak you out. I thought, maybe, if I tried showing you..." he sighs, rubbing his jaw, "that maybe you'd pick up on it." He darts his eyes to mine for a moment, then shuts them again with a shrug. "Which doesn't matter, since you're freaking out right now, anyway."

I shake my head vigorously. "I'm not freaking out," I scoff, but I force it too hard so I end up in a coughing fit, throat itching and scratchy, eyes watering while he pats my back and I continue to hack away like some phlegmy grandma.

"Clearly," he states when I settle down, his eyebrows raising slightly, "you're the picture of composure."

I bite my lip, refusing to meet his stare even when he pulls on my hand lightly, my thoughts tangling together, his admission rolling around in my head. Edward is into me. He wants to be with me. And I know, without even giving him a glance, that he's probably begging me with his eyes for an answer. Which I've already decided on.

It's not a surprise, really, this new feeling bubbling forth that leaves me a little confused and a little giddy. He was right earlier; neither of us are into the whole mushy lovey-dovey crap, but even so, I know that I'm just as into Edward as he is into me. Maybe even more.

The realization is gradual but strong, snippets of memories resurfacing in my head of when his gaze was a little too friendly or I held onto his arm just a little too long. For the longest time, he's been the best friend who always got me, but he's a little slice of something all on his own, too. He is so smart and talented and fucking hilarious. He has the best taste in some of my favorite things and he complements my crazy and has the ability to hold the door for you like a perfect gentleman just to whisper dirty jokes in your ear.

He's kind of everything to me. Which is what makes this so fucking terrifying.

"Are you getting ready to reject me?" he interrupts my thoughts, voice soft.

My eyes snap to his. "What?"

He smiles small, nodding to my head. "I know that look. You're scared."

"I'm not scared," I reply, voice hushed. "And I'm not rejecting you. I'm just..." I trail off, sighing. "I don't know, Edward. Maybe this isn't the best idea."

"Because you're scared," he elaborates, raising his eyebrows.

"Maybe I am scared," I admit with a huff. "Aren't you?"

"What's there to be scared of?" he asks with a small laugh. "I just want to be with you, not perform an exorcism."

"It always gets messy when friends casually hook up."

"I'm not looking for a 'casual hook-up,'" he repeats with a roll of his eyes, voice heavy with implied quotation marks. "And you're not just some random pal. You're my best fucking friend, Bella. You know me better than anyone."

"That's what makes things so complicated!" I exclaim, smacking his arm.

"Uh, no, _you're_ the one making things so complicated," he counters, rubbing where I hit him.

"Thanks, Avril," I mutter before facing him with a sigh. "I mean, really, Edward, what if things end badly?"

"They won't," he answers instantly.

"How do you know?"

His smile is warm and light. "Because I know you and I know me and I know that we're pretty fucking fantastic together."

I'd be lying if I said my chest didn't lift slightly at his words, but I shake my head. "So were Jasper and Alice, and they almost broke up last year, remember?"

He raises a brow. "Can I just take a moment to remind you that neither member of that party is a model citizen? One of them looks like a pedophile and the other is willingly dating him. So."

"Edward, I'm serious."

"Yeah, and I'm trying to fix that."

"Why?" I scoff.

"Because you're trying to talk yourself out of this, and I won't let that happen."

"I'm not trying to talk myself out of anything, I'm just presenting the facts."

He lift his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, inhaling deeply before refocusing his gaze on me. "We aren't Jasper and Alice. And they didn't even break up."

"They almost did."

"But they didn't."

"But what if they did?"

"Bella," he sighs, shaking his head. "You and me, we're different. Stop comparing our situation with theirs and just trust me."

"That's a pretty hefty order," I mumble. "Remember the time you told me to trust that I'd like Indian food and I—"

"Jesus Christ, are you ever going to let that go?" he groans, grabbing at his hair.

I smile at the familiar action, but nearly chew off my lip right after. "You know that everything would be blown to bits if this ended badly, right?"

"I know," he nods, and I wonder how his face can be so calm. "But it won't."

"Everything," I continue. "Like, _everything_ everything." And it's true. Our circle of friends would be split and I'd get the girls while he got the guys, like divorced parents sharing custody. I'd have to start hanging out at different bars to avoid seeing him and then give up altogether to be at home with my millions of hamsters which would eventually eat my hair because I'd forget to buy food for them and I'd end up a bald, homeless woman with hamsters as my only companion. I can't even be the stereotypical cat lady. Talk about low.

Maybe I start panting or muttering or something because Edward's hand suddenly clenches my knee, causing me to glance up at him.

He blinks at me once, then shakes his head slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have told you."

"What?"

"It was too rushed, this whole..."

"Edward, stop. I'm glad you told me."

"So am I," he nods. "But you're panicking."

"I'm not panicking."

"You just uttered the phrase, 'bald, homeless woman,' Bella." He smiles, but his eyes won't meet mine. "You need time."

"No," I shake my head. "What I need is to talk this through with you."

He scoffs out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. "We haven't even begun talking about it, and you're freaking out already." He shakes his head, taking a deep breath before meeting my eyes. "Until you come to terms with the fact that this isn't doomed from the start, you'll be waiting for the other shoe to drop the whole time."

Fuck. He is so right. "You are so wrong."

He grins, nodding and seeing right through me, as usual. "You'll see, Bella. Sooner or later."

"Oh, really?" I ask, feigning boredom with a roll of my eyes, secretly hoping he'll explain what the hell he's talking about. "See just what, exactly?"

He shrugs, smirk stretching into a smile. "That the only reason I'd ask you to risk everything to be with me is because I know we're worth it."

I just gaze back blankly at that, unable to come up with any semblance of a response when he continues, eyes dropping to my lap and then up to my face again, his stare igniting with something I'm beginning to become familiar with.

"I just hope it's sooner rather than later," he adds in a rough murmur as he leans in to place a chaste kiss at the edge of my mouth. He leans back again, eyes alight. "I don't know how long I can wait."

I inhale and clear my throat, licking my lips. "You know, the time would go a lot faster if you would just talk to me about this," I offer.

He shakes his head, the ever-present smirk taunting me. "I can't spoon-feed you everything, you know. Some things you have to figure out on your own."

"Thanks, Dad," I scoff.

He makes a face, reclining a little. "I'm not into the whole Daddy kink thing, Bella, so."

"You're such a perv," I mutter, shoving him a little. He shoves me back and I nudge his shoulders and we end up pushing each other a little harder each time until he lunges forward to trap me between the mattress of my couch and his long, hard body.

"Real mature," I grunt, arms trapped at my sides as he pins me down.

"I'll say," he murmurs with that stupid smile that I find myself wanting to kiss off.

"Edward," I mumble, squirming under him. "Let me go."

He raises a brow. "Promise to behave?"

I narrow my eyes at him, spitting a piece of hair from my mouth. "You sure you're not into the Papa play thing?"

"Now that's just gross, Bella, be a lady for once, will you?" he says straight-faced, finally setting me free with a smirk.

I elbow his side when we sit back up again, and he takes a hold of my arm, pulling it towards him.

"What?"

He searches my face. "You're not gonna get all weird on me, right?"

"_Me_, weird?" I ask dramatically with a scoff, shaking my head. "I thought you knew me better than that, Edward."

"I do," he nods, smiling, and then his eyes dart downwards to my mouth before he looks away. He clears his throat thickly, rising from my couch.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

My brow furrows instantly. "Why?"

"Because," he starts, spinning around to face my sitting figure, "you've got some thinking to do and if I stay, that's the last thing we're going to be doing."

"Oh," I breathe, nodding. "Right. Okay."

"So..." he runs a hand through his hair, his laugh slightly nervous as he meets my eyes. "The ball's in your court now."

"No pressure," I mumble, rising from my seat.

"There's really not," he smiles as I join him in walking to my door. "All you have to do is realize that you're as head over heels into me as I am into you and trust that we'll last longer than a box of Twinkies and then we're all set." He claps his hands once, nodding.

I can't help but laugh, shrugging. "Well when you put it that way."

We reach my door and he grabs the knob, body facing me. "Just don't take too long, okay?" he chuckles, and my mouth twitches with a smile.

"I'll try."

He purses his lips and nods, expression eager yet patient as he leans in to give me a soft kiss on the cheek before opening my door and stepping out, leaving me to figure out what the hell just happened.

* * *

**A/N: These kids are a bit of a mess, and if you're still here, I give you major props. I hope you all have "The Reason" stuck in your head for days to come.**

**Thanks to those who voted for this on TLS and everyone who keeps reviewing and recc'ing! You're all so sweet and amazing, and I wish a semi-drunken, handsy Edward upon you all :)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't own Twilight. Or the ability to update regularly.**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Three days pass with no word from Edward. No texts, no annoying morning wake up calls, no random food drops to the apartment, nothing. He doesn't even show up to the bar Friday night, which leaves me feeling a little more than merely worried, not to mention out of place. Considering how I'm still reeling from the rather sizable bomb he dropped on me last time we spoke, the least the guy could do is send a text in passing. Asshole.

Then again, I'm pretty sure he tried telling me about a massive deadline last week while we were having lunch, but I was probably too distracted to listen by, well, lunch. I think I had a pastrami sandwich. Extra mustard. Probably on toasted rye with a pickle on the side.

"Bella? Are you listening?"

I clear my throat and jerk upright in my seat, nodding to the voice from the phone. "Yeah, Alice, I'm here."

I can practically hear her eyes narrowing on the other line when she asks, "Then what did I just say?"

I fight a sigh, cursing how powerful a distraction an empty stomach can be. "Something about Jasper's tiny peen or another issue of equally important disgust, probably," I murmur, waving mutely to Angie's passing figure carrying a stack of books. She nods back, eyebrows raised.

"You sorely mistaken little perv," Alice replies, sounding more amused than offended. "Don't tell me you forgot about last summer when Jas had to wear that skin-tight wetsuit that perfectly outlined his perfectly massive c—"

"Alice!" I nearly groan, wrenching my eyes shut. "You're going to make me hurl all over my desk with all your Jasper junk talk," I gag. "Quit it."

"You started it."

"And I'll regret it for the rest of my life," I shudder. "Besides, I actually was listening to you earlier. Rose's place is getting fumigated and now she has no location for the party, right?"

"Right," Alice sighs. "You're so fucking lucky you're at work and not stuck with her all day shopping for venues."

"Just drowning in luck over here," I mutter, eyeing the only customer we've had all day, who happens to be a homeless man that's been alternating between muttering to the fake plants or attempting to hump them. What fake plants are doing in a bookstore in the first place, I have no clue.

"She's driving me insane with all her bitchy stress shit. I mean, I keep telling her everything will be fine, but somehow that seems to stress her out even more."

"Maybe because your predictions are always inherently wrong," I scoff.

"Whatever," she just mutters, making me laugh because she knows I'm right.

"Why don't you just tell Rose to throw it at the bar?"

"That's actually a pretty good idea," Alice hums after a slight pause while a small bright flashing catches my eye from below.

"That's what I thought," I reply, making a move to switch calls. "I gotta go, someone's calling the store."

"Pesky customers," she jokes before we hang up and I switch to the other line.

"Bookman's Alley Evanston, this is Bella, how can I help you?" I rattle off the mandatory greeting, rubbing my eyes and fighting a yawn. Angie signals that she's about to take a ten-minute break and I give her a thumbs up, watching her walk out the back door.

"Bella? That's a beautiful name," responds an almost comically-deep voice on the other end.

A tired sigh leaves my mouth at the customary creepy prank caller that we've unfortunately grown accustomed to. "Listen, sir, there are 800 numbers for—"

"That's a pretty blouse you have on, too. Blue compliments you."

I pause, slight panic spreading through me as I shoot Homeless-Humper a glare, but the dude's too busy with the faux foliage to notice me. There's no way in hell he has access to a phone, anyway.

"Who the fuck is this?" I ask probably pointlessly, eyes roaming the windows for any creeper-types standing close by. The streets are nearly empty on this slow Sunday morning, though, and there's almost no one in sight.

"Just someone enjoying the view," is creepy guy's low-toned response, and I'm just about to hang up when a familiar-looking customer walks in the store.

"It's a lot better up close," the voice continues, my pulse slowing down as I take in his face. There's anger, slight fear, and heaps of annoyance, but I can't deny the slight twinge of relief there either, because three days is borderline too long.

"You fucktwat," I huff, hanging up the phone with a glare. "Was that really necessary?"

Edward quits the act, sliding his phone in his pocket with a shake of his head. "You're very easily irritated, you know that? The negative energy that was coming through the phone was almost toxic."

"That might have had something to do with your jackass little stunt," I point out.

"You should take up yoga," he nods, walking closer. "Harness your chi and all that."

"I don't think so," I snort.

"Why not?" he asks. "I hear it does wonders for your core, whatever that is."

I can't resist, tilting my head silghtly. "Figures you'd know nothing about a woman's core."

He grins, and it's somehow big and small at the same time. "I think I know enough. Maybe I'll show you sometime."

And there it is. He's said shit like this before, playful and fleeting and light, but it carries more meaning now. I wait for him to open up, to start referencing to what we spoke about in my apartment, but he remains silent, casual. He's waiting for me, like he said he would.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

"With yoga," he explains. "Why won't you take it up?"

"Oh," I pause, then shrug. "I mean it's just a bunch of breathing and bending and closing your eyes. Basically sex without all the fun stuff."

"Wow," Edward laughs, reaching the counter that separates the customers from the employees. He plants both elbows on it, crossing his arms, and I mimic the position.

"So," I start, raising my eyebrows. "Took a break for air, huh?"

He actually looks clueless. "What?"

I smack his arm. "You've been AWOL for the past three days. Jerk."

"AWOL? Really, Bella?" he asks with a tiny grin. "Why don't you just say MIA?"

My brow furrows. "Shut up."

His widen. "Holy—are you pouting?"

"What? No." Maybe.

"Isabella Swan, you are _so_ pouting."

"I am _so_ not," I mimic.

"You're like a teenage girl's Instagram."

"Shut the fuck up, Edward, I don't pout."

He points to my face, making goo-goo eyes and blinking slowly. "You're practically a puppy."

"You know I have the authority to kick you out of here."

He sticks his tongue out at me and I do the same, and then he flicks me. With his index finger and thumb, he flicks my arm. Like I'm a child in an orphanage circa 1900s who needs punishing.

"Ow?" He flicks me again, but harder. "_Ow_." And then I start flicking him, too.

It's a big flick-fest until the phone rings again and I glare at him, silently telling him to leave me alone to work while I take the call, but even while I repeat the obligatory greeting to the customer on the other line, he begins making stupid silly faces that should not, under any circumstances, move a grown 24-year-old woman like me to laughter. But they sort of really do.

"Um, no sir, I don't believe we, uh, carry that particular novel," I sputter, moving to shove Edward's stupid face away and missing pathetically.

He ducks seamlessly, then suddenly gasps dramatically. "Oh my God, Bella, what are you watching? Is that _porn?_" he practically yells, and this time, my fist doesn't miss.

"I am going to maim you," I whisper-yell after covering the receiver on the phone. "I'm talking complete mutilation."

"You need to work on your customer service," he murmurs with a shake of his head, rubbing the shoulder I punched. "That's no way to treat your clientele."

I flip him off before turning around to croon sweetly into the phone about another store location that might be able to help, and with an awkward goodbye, we hang up.

I whip around, seething. "You're seriously so dead."

"You're seriously so in need of new threats," he replies, equally menacing.

"You know, if this is how you treat your supposed best friends, I'd hate to be your enemy," I mutter, making my way to the storage room when he stops me.

I look down at his enclosed fist around my wrist, raising a brow. "You know I'm messing around, right?" he asks, voice soft, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yep," I nod casually. "'Course."

He doesn't let go of my arm, though, clearly unconvinced while he squints at my face. "You're mad."

"I'm not mad, Edward. I'm just..." A little weirded out. Confused. Wondering why he hasn't spoken to me once in three days. "Caffeine-deficient," I offer instead. "I didn't have time to get coffee this morning, so."

He looks horrified. "Why were you even allowed to drive, let alone work? That's a hazard, Swan."

"Tell me about it."

"And here I thought you were just grouchy from missing me," he mutters, pulling lightly on a strand of my hair. I don't swat his hand away, and he notices.

Scoffing, I make a face while wiping invisible dust from my shoulder. "Please. I don't miss people, I _dismiss_ them."

"Right," he chuckles before shrugging a little. "Well. I missed you," he admits, voice quiet and deep as he leans a little closer, my breath involuntarily hitching when both his hands reach for either side of my jacket collar. Just when I think he'll pull me closer, he spreads my jacket wider, eyes roving my chest blatantly. "Or, I missed them, at least."

My gape is satisfactorily wide judging by his following smirk, and I shove his chest hard twice, relishing in his pained groan. "You are such a jackass."

"Oh come on, you know I'm joking," he laugh-groans, wincing as he rubs his collarbone.

"You realize that's the third time I've had to inflict physical force upon you within the fifteen minutes you've been here. Don't make me call security, Cullen."

He shrugs, leaning against the counter and playing with the sleeve of my jacket. "We're making up for three days' worth of lost time, is all." When I don't respond, his eyes cut to mine, lips slightly pursed. "I did miss you, you know."

I inhale through my nose, shuffling a few papers. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to swoon?" I ask, batting my lashes dramatically.

"No," he chuckles, "this is the part where you say you missed me, too."

"Of course I missed you," I shrug, face blank as I stare up at him. "You left me alone with Pedo-Stache and Co for three whole days. I nearly forgot what sanity looked like."

He starts pulling on my sleeve again, leaning closer. "Oh, please. That's not why you missed me and you know it," he tells me, voice sure and deep.

"Whatever," I say with a roll of my eyes, because I realize he's completely right. It's a little terrifying that his absence means more than just one less friend to shoot the breeze with suddenly, that now him being around affects me more than it should. He's been away for weeks before, and it's never made me feel like this. I don't like it. "What happened to you, anyway?" I clear my throat, willing myself to stop overthinking.

"Work happened," he sighs, running a hand over his jaw. "I've been stuck on that deadline I told you about last week."

"I remember," I lie.

"Yeah, well it's been kicking my ass. I haven't had time to piss."

"Or shave," I remark, trailing a finger across his three-day shadow. "You look like Grizzly Adams," I snort. If Grizzly Adams looked ridiculously attractive after three days of not seeing the sun or a razor.

"Funny, I was going to say the same about you," he replies, tapping my chin once.

"You're lucky I'm too lazy to throw that stapler at your face."

He laughs, and I don't realize how much I've missed the sound. Or sight. "So, what now? Back to slaving away for the man?"

"Nope," he says, popping the last consonant. "I'm done," he continues, rubbing the skin above his eyebrow with an inhale. "Turned in the editorial just, like, an hour ago."

"Wow," I blink, a little shocked. "That's great. Why aren't you out celebrating?"

"Who says I'm not?"

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Right, because Bookman's Alley is such a trendy hotspot," I nod, gesturing to the completely empty store.

"You got that right," he replies with a click of his tongue. "Since when did you guys get fake plants? Very vogue."

"Edward." I nudge his arm a little. "It's kind of pathetic that this deserted bookstore is the first stop you made after being freed from the shackles of zine-editing hell."

He just shrugs. "You're here, aren't you?" I nod. "So it's not deserted, is it? And I wouldn't call coming to see you pathetic."

"Sure, sure. I know you're just here for the free wifi."

He chuckles low, voice dropping to a murmur. "One of these days, Bella, you're going to run out of excuses for why I would possibly associate myself with you and just face the truth."

"I know the truth. It's that I'm awesome," I reply with a scoff, hoping the casual gesture will cover the clench in my chest. Because I _would_ call coming to see me pathetic and it weirds me out that he doesn't and I'm a coward who can't deal with the truth. Or won't.

"Like, totally radical," he adds in a surfer accent.

"Gnarly."

"Wicked cool."

"Stellar."

"Off the wall."

"Off the _chain_."

"That's gangster, Bella, not surfer."

"Are you actually proud you know the difference?"

"It's the little things," he shrugs, smiling small.

"You'd know a lot about little things, wouldn't you?" I tease, dropping my eyes to his pants.

"Wow," he scoffs. "A penis joke? That's a little below the belt, Swan." He pauses, shrugging. "Literally."

"I'm a changed woman, Cullen," I sigh dramatically. "You've been gone too long."

"I'm betting your plans for Sunday nights remain the same," he laughs, poking my shoulder. "Are you free?"

I purse my lips. "Why, who's asking?"

He wipes his hand across his chest, then sticks it out in front of my face. "Hi, Edward Cullen, nice to meet you."

I push it away. "Such a dork."

"Come to the movies tonight," he offers through a chuckle. "Alice and Jas invited me to see this slasher flick at the drive-in and I said yes out of guilt. I'm gonna be bored out of my mind, but not so much if you're there."

A humorless chuckle tumbles out of my mouth. "Why do you keep saying yes to these things?"

"I can't help it that I'm popular."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, Gretchen Weiners."

"Come on," he persists.

"I dunno," I muse. "I haven't been to the drive-in since—oh gosh, since the women's liberation movement, yes."

"Such a hater," Edward mutters with a shake of his head. In a flash, he hoists himself up the counter, swivels around, and plants his feet right next to mine.

"You can't be behind here," I hiss, shooing him.

He just laughs at my efforts, unmoving. "Why are you whispering?"

I stop my actions, blinking twice. "I don't know," I say, voice normal. "But you seriously can't be here."

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your way as soon as you agree to come with me tonight."

"Oh my God, seriously? Blackmail? You're like a Bond villain."

"I resent that," he winces.

"If the shoe fits," I offer, trying to push him away and failing completely.

He steps closer to me, holding my shoving arms firmly in place. "Come on," he says softer this time, pleading. "Don't leave me alone with Pixie and Pubestache."

I can't help but laugh silently at that, but just shrug as an answer. "What can I do to convince you?" he offers, taking another step closer. His face is a foot away, but he feels so much closer when he licks his lips, and my fingers itch to run across his jaw.

I gulp. "Stop invading my personal space, for starters," I only half-joke. It's a miracle my voice doesn't waver.

"And here I thought I was invited," he chuckles softly, leaning forward.

"Edward."

"Bella."

"Stop...trying to bribe me by doing that stupid eye thing."

He halts his leaning with a tilt of his head, eyebrow raised. "Stupid eye thing?"

"Yeah, and your stupid scruff, too. Just stop."

He shrugs innocently, but I swear his eyes are grinning. "I'm not doing anything, Bella."

"You're leaning! Like a cholo," I add, remembering Alice's commentary from a week and a half ago.

He laughs through his nose, shoulders shaking, and then his eyes meet mine again. "Does my cholo-like leaning bother you?"

"No, it's just...distracting."

"I distract you?" he asks, and I swear he's an inch closer.

"Maybe?" I shake my head. "Anyway, I'm trying to work."

He looks around the shop. "Because the place is flooded with customers, obviously."

"Sunday's our slowest day," I explain pathetically.

"I can tell," he says, taking another step towards me. Our shoulders are practically touching at this point, and I can smell his familiar soapy skin mixed with his toothpaste. He's staring down at me, eyes greener than ever before, his mouth slightly agape. I still remember how it tastes.

"I can't do this."

"Can't do what?" he whispers.

I inhale, his scent filling my head, and close my eyes for a beat. "If I agree to go with you, will you stop the Leaning Tower of Pisa bit?"

"Won't hurt your chances," he shrugs. "But I don't really think you want me to stop, Bella."

"You should probably leave that decision to me, Edward."

He grins, wide and smart. "I have."

I'm utterly speechless at that, because he's sorta kinda absolutely correct. He leans a little closer, bending his face down while his hand comes up to trace my lip so lightly I can barely feel it. I can't find my voice to tell him to stop or ask what the fuck he thinks he's doing, I can only focus on seeing and feeling. I lick my lips involuntarily, watching his eyes light with a familiar fire at the action, and I gulp when his hooded eyes are suddenly closer, our breaths mingling as—

"Oh good, y'all are open!" shouts a loud, twangy voice, making me jump.

Edward sighs and I clear my throat, rubbing my neck as I turn to face the cheery customer.

"Um, yes, we are," I nod to the woman, but she's already made her way to the magazine section.

When I turn back to face Edward, I see that he's already jumped across the counter and is on the other side wearing a small smile.

Before I can even ask how he got there so fast, he says, "I'll text you the address," stares at me for a beat longer with his mouth opening and then closing before he finally turns around and walks through the door.

* * *

**Let's get this over with. I suck massive ogre toes and you guys are wonderful. I'm a terrible updater and deserve to be punished as such. Okay.**

**In other news, you guys all deserve a medal for sticking with this story. Nay, a cookie. NAY, A MEDAL MADE OF COOKIES. (I'm running on five hours of sleep, so just ignore me.)**

**With any luck, I'll see you guys within the next year or so. Maybe. (Kidding, I will try very, _very_ hard to update next week.)**

**Thanks for reading! :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own Twilight. Also this sorta semi kinda earns the M rating in this chapter. Buyers beware.**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"Did you know I have the perfect view of your living room if I park in front of the fire hydrant on sixth?" I say in place of hello, squinting up at Edward's window and pulling up outside his place.

His abrupt chuckle is vaguely scoffy. "Why, you making a map, Stalker-Sally?"

"Yeah, totally. Stalking Chronically-Tardy Chicagoan Bachelors Suffering From Arachnophobia: A Guide."

"It's not arachnophobia if the spider was as big as my goddamned hand," he protests.

"But it is arachnophobia if the number eight sent you into hysterics for a week afterwards."

I can hear his gape from the phone. "Suing for disapproved exploitation of personal emotional trauma."

I hum, "Tell that to my publisher."

"Which will probably end up being me."

It's my turn to gape. "You wish."

"What are you doing looking in my window anyway, Bella? Desperate to see my man junk, huh?"

I roll my eyes at the smirk in his voice, putting the truck in park. "Your man junk is just that. _Junk_. Ha!" I chuckle a little more than necessary, allowing myself a fist bump. "Burrrrrn."

A second of silence follows. "Did you just laugh at your own bad joke before announcing your own burn?" he asks, voice close to marvelling. "You gonna use the Z-snap on me next?"

"Don't underestimate the power of Z-snapping, Edward."

"Or what, you'll bring your crew to breakdance me to death?" His tone is serious. "Have you been watching You Got Served unsupervised again?"

"You fucker," I mutter, unable to keep from laughing. "Just get down here before Alice gives me shit about being late again."

"You're gonna get another ticket for parking there, you know."

"The whole block is packed," I whine. "This earth is too fucking populated."

"This earth. As in, you think there's another one out there."

"You know what I mean."

"The only person who does, sadly."

"It's a privileged circle," I counter.

His laugh is immediate. "There are not nearly enough people who understand your nonsense to make a triangle, let alone a circle."

"And now I'm leaving."

He rushes out another laugh, and I hear a door shut in the background. "I'll be down."

"You're _going_ down," I murmur to no one, ending the call with an involuntary pull of my lips. I can't help the smile that appears on my face at how pretty normal everything feels, even after what happened on my couch a little less than a week ago. He's the same Edward, and I'm the same Bella, and we're the same best friends who give each other shit before catching movies on the weekend.

And it's completely normal and not even worth investigating if I occasionally feel the undeniable urge to run my fingers through his hair or wonder incessantly how his stubble would feel against certain parts of my body or replay our mouths moving in sync into the late hours of the night. Totes normsauce.

I start a little when Edward suddenly opens the door to my truck and hops in smelling like shower gel, toothpaste, and coffee.

Is that even legal?

"You okay?" he asks, eyeing me suddenly as he closes the door.

"What, yeah," I clear my throat. "Why?"

"You're kinda drooling a little..." He nods to my face, brows knitted before his face breaks out in grin.

I slap his arm before starting the engine. "Cocky asshole."

"Why aren't we picking up Alice and Jasper again?" he asks, clicking his seatbelt. "We should be saving the planet, or whatever."

"Calm down, Superman." He rolls his eyes, and I fight a smile. "The drive-in is supposedly closer to their part of town or some shit, but I'd bet my left arm they just wanna fuck in the backseat without us interrupting."

He coughs, grimacing afterwards. "Well in that case, I owe you big time for coming."

"What's new," I shrug, pulling away from the curb.

* * *

"Did you not put butter in this?"

He ignores me, continuing to sip his beer we snuck in.

"Edward."

"Huh, what?" he mumbles distractedly.

I crane my neck to peer out my windshield, eyes darting from the screen showcasing mountains of blood spewing from a headless creature's staggering figure to Edward's fixated gaze on said screen.

"I can't believe this," I mutter with a shake of my head, downing the rest of my Sam Adams.

He tears his eyes away for a second to shoot me a raised brow. "What?"

"You're actually engrossed in this garbage?"

"It's not garbage, Bella, it's...corn syrup usage at its finest," he sputters finally.

"That was desperate."

He smirks. "Something you'd know a thing or two about."

A fistful of popcorn goes flying towards his stupidly smirky face, and I exhale triumphantly at his sounds of complaint.

"Did you just harrumph?" he asks, pulling popcorn from his hair. "You're like Veruca Salt in the Chocolate Factory."

I ignore his jab. "You deserved it, jackass. There's like, no butter in here." I rattle the bucket, protesting when he grabs it from me.

He pops a piece in his mouth, the sight of his lips moving suddenly slamming the memory of us kissing so hard, I find myself licking my lips and averting my gaze. I shake the image from my mind as he clears his throat. "See, a normal person with normal taste buds that haven't been completely corrupted by copious amounts of pastries would be perfectly fine with this amount of butter. You've been tainted."

"Don't blame the pastries, Cullen. That's borderline blasphemous."

He rolls his eyes, shoving the bucket back in my hands. "Your attachment to food is kinda concerning."

"Yeah, it's not like _all_ humans are sort of attached to food as if we like, need it to survive or whatever," I scoff.

The corner of his lip pulls up slightly. "Pretty sure consuming five pounds of butter in one sitting is counterproductive to surviving."

"Just call me Paula Deen," I mutter, wrenching the driver door open.

His hand clutches my arm, eyebrows furrowed. "Where are you going?"

I purse my lips at his hold, eyes flickering down to his fingers to where his warmth is sinking into my skin. "To water this Sahara desert of a popcorn bucket, if that's okay with you."

He shrugs. "I'll come with."

"You sure? You don't wanna miss the busty chick get stabbed thirty-seven times."

His tongue runs along the bottom row of his teeth in a semi-smile and I gulp at the sight as he rolls his eyes. "I'll rent it."

The sun has set long since we arrived, the flickering neon sign of an aptly named "Snack Shack" the only light guiding us as we weave our way in between vehicles and trash cans, a crisp breeze causing a small shiver to creep up my back. The wind picks up speed after a second, creating goosebumps across my arms that I try to rub away as we amble through the lot.

"Here," Edward suddenly says, shrugging out of his hoodie before offering it to me.

He's given me his jacket tons of times before—hell, I've even worn the dude's boxers on shameful occasion—but my mind suddenly goes into overdrive and it starts feeling a little too much like an Ingrid Michaelson song up in here. I know he probably doesn't mean anything by it, but there's that .01% chance that he'll take my acceptance of his jacket as tacit compliance in furthering our relationship and the next thing I know, we'll be Facebook official, raising ferns together and contemplating which holiday card to send to distant relatives. Then what?

In the end, my crazy wins. As usual. "What—no, um, I'm good," I mutter to the ground, refusing the article of clothing.

He raises both eyebrows. "Is that why your lips are turning blue?"

"Really, Edward, I'm fine," I nod shakily because the wind picks up yet again, making my knees wobble. Mother Nature vs. Bella, just like old times.

"You're two minutes away from getting hypothermia."

"You're two minutes away from getting on my last nerve."

He snickers at my pathetic comeback, shaking his head as he takes a step towards me. "Take the jacket, Bella."

"Take a hint, Edward."

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"Your face doesn't make any sense."

He's fighting a smile, squinting at my insanity. "Why are you being so weird?"

"Me?" I scoff with too much enthusiasm, cocking my head backwards. "I'm not being weird." But I so, so am. It's a simple fucking gesture that I'm blowing completely out of proportion because I can't stop thinking of his long fingers wrapped around the fabric or the slight stubble surrounding his mouth as he flexes his jaw. "Your mom's being weird," I blurt out, regret instant.

His brow furrows, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "I don't think I've heard a your mom joke since high school."

I exhale forcefully, hands on my hips, mind drawing a blank when he takes yet another step forward. "Your...mom hasn't heard a your mom joke since high school."

He just blinks at me. "See, this just furthers my point that you need to take my jacket. I fear all the blood from your brain is rushing to your heart, Bella. Knock-knock jokes are on the horizon."

"Your mom makes knock-knock jo—"

"I'm fully aware of my mother's capabilities, thanks," he interrupts deadpan, unfazed. Not that my consistently sharp responses are that faze-inducing.

I finally give up, scratching the back of my neck and taking a step back because his beer-buttery scent is making me foggy. "You know what, you can get the popcorn drenched, I'll just be waiting in the car. It's kinda chilly, you know."

He scoff-yells my name while I speed walk away but I don't dare glance back, level-seven shame and embarrassment washing through me as I stumble towards the truck. I get in the backseat because it's closer than the driver's and I can't tell the difference between front and back or simple offerings from friends and proposals to be more than.

I jolt when the other backseat door opens and Edward slides in the truck entirely too soon sans popcorn. He completely ignores the bloody screen this time, eyes expectant and tense and trained on me as he settles in the seat, scooting closer to me until our legs are almost touching.

"Okay," he exhales slowly, angling his body so he's facing me. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm a fucking idiot," I tell my lap.

I see his head nod in my peripheral vision. "I'm gonna have to agree in this case."

"I don't...I'm sorry." I raise my head.

His lips are slightly pursed, head tilted. "You're still freaking out over what I told you, huh?"

"I'm not freaking out."

"You were staring at my jacket like it was a ring."

"I'm a little freaking out?"

"Do I have to repeat all the your-mom jokes? I really rather wouldn't."

"Okay, I'm a lot freaking out," I admit with a groan. "Happy?"

The tiniest of smiles graces his mouth as his eyebrows raise. "A little, yeah."

"Asshole," I gape, slapping his arm.

His laugh is soft as he shrugs. "I mean it's a little entertaining, seeing what the thought of me is doing to you."

I point an accusing finger at him, my tone factual. "Attention whore."

He just smiles. "Well, it's your attention, so you can't really blame me."

Suddenly breathing gets a little harder, and I might just have to admit that I don't entirely hate the feeling one of these days. "Edward."

"Bella." He moves a hand to my knee, the warmth from his palm seeping through my skin. "Talk to me."

I almost laugh. "Because it's that simple."

A furrow appears between his eyebrows. "We've never had problems with communication before."

"That was before you decided to play tonsil hockey with me."

"Hey, now. I distinctly remember your enthusiastic input in said game of tonsil hockey."

"Your goalie was far too aggressive."

"Hockey's a rough sport, Bella. Besides, I didn't hear you complaining."

"Excuse me, Mr. Jam-My-Tongue-In-Your-Mouth, but you didn't really give me a chance to speak."

His eyes turn soft, cocky smile in place. "I am now."

"I..." A frustrated sigh leaves my mouth while he rubs the skin above my knee, the soothing gesture causing a contradictory bundle of tension at the pit of my stomach. "I don't know what we're doing."

"It's called talking."

"Shut up," I grumble, pushing his arm away and secretly hoping he'll come back, my chest clenching a little when he does. It's practically a fucking metaphor for our whole relationship. "You know what I mean."

"We established this," he murmurs with a nod.

I lick my lips and turn to face him. "I'm not freaking out because I don't know how I feel about you. I mean. I want you." The words are out before I know it and I'm staring at him staring at me, this tiny twitch pulling his lips upwards as he remains silent for a second.

He clears his throat. "You want me...to..." he trails off and gestures for me to continue, smirk fully in place.

I roll my eyes, shoving his shoulder. "I don't want you to _do_ anything, you moronic dork."

He nods. "Touching."

I sigh, exhausted, my pesky emotions draining me. "I just want you." His grin practically lights up the whole sky at my confession and he inches closer, making my breath hitch slightly. "But I can't shake the feeling that I'm going to ruin this. Everything. Titanic-meets-iceberg-esque. All the lifeboats have fled, not enough lifejackets, no survivors, all that jazz."

He breathes in deeply, voice low. "I won't let you be our iceberg, Bella. Give my maneuverability some credit."

"Okay but remember when you tried to stop me from binging on free churros and I ended up sick in bed for three days?"

"My car's upholstery remembers it."

I nod, "So if you can't stop me from consuming deep-fried sugary dough, how in the hell are you going to stop me from wrecking _this_." I gesture between us, voice near panicked, and he catches my hand before I can bring it to my lap again, his skin soft and warm as his thumb rubs circles across my hand, wreaking havoc on my self-control. Speaking of.

"Don't keep doing that if you expect me to think clearly."

"I never expect you to think clearly," he says immediately, chuckling low.

"I mean it, Edward." I give him my best serious face, feeling my lips wobble in an effort to keep from smiling.

He laughs outright. "Good, Bella."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means..." he runs a hand through his hair, inhaling. "You could use a break from thinking."

I make a face. "Gee, did you get that straight out of Date Raping 101 or something, you creepo?"

"_Over_-thinking," he corrects, nudging my shoulder with his, bringing his hand to my thigh again, rubbing my skin in an attempt to soothe me. "Try to relax."

I exhale shakily, my eyes trained on his long fingers stroking my bare skin. And maybe it is relaxing, his warm, soft touch. It still creates a hum of adrenaline low in my blood, but my thoughts aren't running a mile a minute anymore. "That feels nice," I admit softly.

"See?" he murmurs.

"I think I do," I reply, shifting my head to look at his face. His profile is just ridiculous, all sharp angles and straight bone structure that's borderline disturbing. His gaze darts to me, eyes a different shade of green I find myself licking my lips to. Then he's staring at my mouth and I feel rather than see his fingers dig into my skin just a little harder, the pressure causing a hitch in my breath. He smells like artificial butter and aftershave.

"Bella," he whispers, breath washing over my face, lighting a match that's probably been burning longer than I realize.

I kiss him without thinking, without caring, and it's so much better than I remember that I can't find it in me to stop. He shifts a little so he's facing me, gaining better access to my mouth, his lips soft and hot and wet, frenzied and firm. It's a good thing I'm sitting because I can't feel my knees. I can only focus on how good his tongue feels and tastes, how his groan vibrates through my whole body, down to my toes, and how I can't get close enough.

"Is this," he pants, breaking away, "okay?"

My mouth traces his jaw and I let my tongue run over his stubble, mesmerized by the friction on my tongue and relishing in his answering moan. "Yes," I tell him, done thinking.

He grabs my hips and pulls me closer to him but I do one better, moving to straddle his thighs, so fucking thankful he took my advice earlier and wore a pair of pajama pants. _No one's gonna see us in my truck anyway_, I'd said earlier. How I hope to heaven that remains true.

He curses, fingers digging into my waist as I settle on top of his lap, my hands in his hair as he kisses me harder, mouth hot and urgent against my moan. I can feel him, hard and hot through my cotton shorts, so much that I can't help but rock against him, bursts of pleasure pulsing through my body that make me gasp his name.

"Bella," he gasps. "Shit." His fiery gaze drips down to where we're pressed together before meeting my own heady stare, and he licks his lips. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asks again, and I want to laugh in his face.

"I'm better than okay," I pant, unable to still my hips. "Edward, you feel..." my voice trails off, the word dying on my tongue when he grinds against me harder. _Perfect_.

"I know," he exhales, breathing rough. "You too."

He burrows his face in my neck, lips sucking my throat so hard and so good while his hands cup my waist, dragging his fingernails under my shirt and against the skin of my back. I hiss at the sharp pleasure, feeling him grow harder beneath me. "I..."

"What?" he rasps, pulling back from my neck, his heavy-lidded eyes filled with so much more than lust. "What, Bella?"

My mouth hangs open when he pushes his hips upwards and pulls mine down especially hard and I can't stop the cry flying out of my mouth, the familiar wetness gathering between my thighs making me squirm. "I...I just want—"

"What do you want?" he demands roughly, fingers skating beneath my shirt, toying with the hem.

"You," I reply simply, breathlessly. His eyes ignite at the single word, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps. "Touch me," I plead.

"Fuck," he moans, grabbing my ass. "Yes." His hands roam beneath my flimsy t shirt and he grunts, "Take this off."

I do what he says and tell him to do the same, inhaling sharply at the sight of his bare chest and arms because although I've seen him shirtless countless times before, it has never been like this. My fingers move on their own, tracing his warm skin until I get to his abs, the muscles shuddering beneath my touch as he groans softly. Then it's his turn to touch me and I can barely keep breathing when his thumb finds my nipple and his other hand adds to the friction between my thighs, dipping below my shorts.

"Shit," I hiss, rocking into his hand, his mouth at my throat.

"Christ, Bella," he grits out. "I can feel how wet you are."

"For you," I murmur weakly, his hand rubbing harder.

"Fuck yes, for me," he growls, lips moving to cover my breast.

My breathing turns harsher at his words and I decide right there that I'd like to feel him just as much. My hand glides easily under the elastic band of his pants and his chest rises and falls faster as I take him in my hand, holding him tight.

"Jesus, fuck," he moans, thrusting into my touch, and I can't help the whimper that escapes me at how so very hard he is. For me.

"Do you..." he mumbles, lolling the back of his neck against the seat's headrest. I watch his throat gulp and move my hand a little faster, relishing in his hiss. His fingers are there, digging through the thin fabric of my underwear, stroking me mad. "Do you even know how good you feel?" he rasps, hips moving in time with my hand.

Before I can answer, a sharp rap on the window makes us both jump and my head hits the ceiling of my truck, my pained groan joined by Edward's when I land on his lap a little too hard.

"Fuck!"

"Shit!"

"Bella?"

"Shit," I repeat, only softer this time. "It's Alice," I whisper-yell to Edward, rubbing my head, both of us still panting.

He winces when I shift a little on his lap and my eyes widen before I practically hop off, taking a seat next to him instead. "Sorry," I hiss.

"No biggie," he groans softly, shaking his head._ On the contrary..._

"Hello?" Alice persists, knocking again. "Why are y'all whispering?"

Edward clears his throat, trying to pat down his hair. "Uh, just a minute," he calls out, pulling on his shirt while I do the same. He turns to me, licking his palm before flattening it against my hair, and I make a soft noise of complaint.

"Gross, cooties!"

"You didn't think my cooties were all that gross two minutes ago," he grins.

I roll my eyes but can't help the smile at my lips and use my own hands to fix my hair before attempting to fix his. It's a lost cause, really, but we try all the same.

My gaze darts to the tent still standing in his pants, and I raise a brow. "You gonna be okay?"

He inhales, bowing his head to stare at his lap with me. "Probably not, but Alice."

"Alice," I agree with a nod as he strategically uses his hoodie to hide his happy camper.

"Hello?!" she practically yells.

Edward opens his door after a quick roll of his eyes and she's standing there with a hand on her hip and a scowl etched across her face, the continuing movie casting shadows across her skin.

"Hey, Alice," I chirp with a casual nod.

She squints at me. "What the fuck took you guys so long?"

"Hmm?"

"The door."

"Oh, I accidentally locked it, and couldn't find my keys. Sorry," I offer weakly.

"Why are you both in the backseat?"

"Huh? Oh. Um, well..."

"Bella lost her rubber band earlier. It fell. Back here," Edward finishes, gesturing to the floor. "We were just looking for it."

"You weren't wearing your hair up," she counters, raising a brow at me.

I let out a nervous laugh. "No yeah, but I always keep one handy, you know, just in case. Never know when my hair's gonna go all Diana Ross on me."

"Right," she says monotone, clearly convinced. Before she can continue with her interrogation, Jasper shows up at her side.

"So this movie sucks ass," he declares.

"An hour too late, Jas," I mutter.

"We're gonna head to the bar, if you guys wanna come," he continues, nodding before catching sight of something that makes his brows furrow. "Dude, what the fuck happened to your hair?" he asks Edward.

"Yeah, it looks like you got electrocuted," Alice snickers.

The victim of said electrocution shoots me an accusing stare, his voice low. "Does it now?"

"There was a mosquito stuck in there earlier and he kept trying to get it out," I cough, nodding to his hair. "That thing could catch birds, it's so tangled."

"Dude. Two words. Brush your hair."

Alice sighs, "Jas, that's—"

"Shit, Billy Goat's is gonna close in two hours," he interrupts, grabbing her hand. "Gotta skedaddle. Later, bitches," he shouts before pulling her away, and it's quiet for a moment after they leave.

"So." I clear my throat.

"So."

"Do you wanna go?"

"To the bar?"

"No, do karate in the garage." He laughs, making me smile. "Yes, to the bar."

He shrugs. "Uh yeah. Sure."

I duck my head to meet his eyes. "Don't get too excited there, Skippy."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, it's not that I'm not excited. In fact, I may be _too_ excited. If you know what I mean." He meets my eyes before dropping his gaze to his hoodie-covered lap, and I practically gasp.

"Oh! Yeah. Right. Okay."

"I may need a minute."

I nod, forehead creased in understanding. "Of course. I can see how...hard this is for you."

"Out," he mutters, closing his eyes.

"Sure, yeah, I'll just go to the restroom. I hope you're not so blue when I get back."

"You're awful and I hate you," he says matter-of-factly.

"Aw, come on, you know I'm just riding you." I pause, shrugging. "Or, I _was_. Very enthusiastically, I might add."

He shoves my shoulder with a groan. "Leave me alone to explode."

I open the door but don't step out. "Okay, but you're paying for any damage done to my upholstery."

"Let's call it even, Miss Barf-in-the-Backseat."

I sigh, rolling my eyes as I step out of the truck. "Fine. We're even. Besides, I really should go to the bathroom soon, anyway. Need to take care of a few things myself, if you know what I mean." Before he can ask, I turn around to face him and wave two fingers in a farewell motion. "Later, Edward."

I still remember the look on his face long after I shut the door.

* * *

**Still here? Coolio. Three cheers for taking matters in your own hands, if you know what I mean.**

**SO this lil' story has been recc'd for the Week over at TLS! Thanks for everyone who recc'd/voted! I believe you still have a day or two to get on that, if you haven't already.**

**Y'all are the sweetest. Seriously. Thanks for reading! **


End file.
